


The Penguin Suite

by autumnsxangel



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tailor Shop, M/M, Slow Burn, barbara is the editor of a fashion magazine, basically suit porn, butch manages a model agency, edward unwittingly becomes a model, inspired by gotham's costume department, seriously they talk about suits a lot, zsasz is a fashion photographer because he is the best hype man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25973593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnsxangel/pseuds/autumnsxangel
Summary: Oswald was the owner of The Penguin Suite, a tailor shop that catered to the creme de la creme of Gotham. One day, Edward Nygma wandered in off the street in hopes of acquiring a bespoke suit by the infamous Penguin. Edward was nothing like his usual clientele, but for some reason Oswald couldn't find it in himself to turn him away.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 42
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I literally have not written fanfic in years, but for some reason Nygmobblepot just makes me weak. Psychotic murder husbands, man. Gets me every time. That and the costumes. The villain suits are my reason for living. So, please excuse me while I shake off the cobwebs on my brain. Just some A/N - This TailorAU!Oswald does not have a criminal empire, but does dabble in some illegal activities. I was also aiming for Season 1/2-ish Edward. Still innocent, but slightly unhinged. I gotta say, I find Edward really difficult to write from the outside. Since this fic is from Oswald's POV I struggled with how to best show that the Riddler was still rattling around in Edward's brain. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

The Penguin Suite was unassuming and nondescript on the outside, old streaky glass windows set into the faded brick wall. The name of the shop curled in old fashioned cursive on a worn wooden sign. Below it, a red door with paint chipping away to reveal the wood underneath. Yellowed curtains, once white, were tightly drawn behind the windows hiding the interior from view. 

The store never seemed to be open. Or perhaps it was never shut. Either way, there were no signs indicating operating hours. No hint of what the store actually sold. The only evidence of life was the occasional customer that scurried through the door. In other words, it looked like every other rundown store in Gotham. Unassuming, nondescript, and most importantly, invisible.

The inside, however, was a different matter.

The Penguin Suite was Oswald Cobblepot’s pride and joy. When he first decided to open his own tailor shop, Oswald knew exactly what type of clientele he was seeking. The richest of the rich. The kings and queens of the most powerful people in Gotham. The Untouchables. After all, he did not spend a decade apprenticing all over Europe, learning how to draft patterns and match the lines of plaid, to let his skills go to waste clothing ignorant commoners who could not tell the difference between a half windsor and full windsor knot. So, he made sure the interior matched the caliber he seeked.

The front of the store was fake, made of dusty pine wood shelves and an assortment of useless knick knacks. Anyone who received an invitation to his shop knew the real entrance was behind the counter in the guise of a storeroom door. It was not the most intriguing of secret entrances, but Oswald was nothing if not clever and he knew there was assurance in simplicity. The best way to hide something was in plain sight. Knock on the door in a certain pattern and gain entrance to The Penguin Suite.

The real entrance of his store housed Oswald’s more artistic works. Headless mannequins lined the hall in suits that he had made in fits of creative whimsy, unlikely colors and patterns clashing together until they melded into an unexpected whole. These were the suits that would most likely never see the light of day, too avant garde for the masses, but occasionally, a pattern or a fabric would catch a client’s eye and Oswald would be requested to make a velvet brocade smoking jacket or a waistcoat in floral.

Next was the lounge, the area the clients spent the most time in. This was where Oswald entertained. Where clients came to discuss their next piece, where they picked out fabrics and talked about cuts. This was where Oswald subtlety steered them away from bad decisions like trying to pull off wide lapels on thin shoulders. Later, it was where the clients waited to enter the fitting room off to the side. 

Unlike the rest of the shop, the fitting room was well lit and made almost entirely of mirrors with a podium in the center. There was only one as Oswald never double-booked clients. Besides, he needed the room for his workshop which was hidden behind one of the mirror panels.

Most of the shop was made of dark cherry wood, velvet purple curtains, oriental rugs, and dimly lit chandeliers. It should have been gothic in tone, but with the strategic placement of gold and glass accents, Oswald managed to straddle the line of just enough opulence to be classy. Because as he mentioned before, Oswald knew exactly who he was catering to when he decided to open his tailor shop. The Penguin Suite was a place meant for rich men. For men rich enough to waste an entire day on the fitting of a single suit. A place where men came to sip on smokey whiskey out of crystal tumblers, comfortable enough to trade secrets in low murmurs under the ambient melodies of classical music and light of a roaring fire. 

These men left with their wallets a lighter, but always pleased, dressed in handmade pieces tailored within an inch of their lives. Oswald was nothing if not skilled at his craft. And if he ended up with a tip or two on which stock to invest in or the names of a variety of mistresses, well, no one was the wiser.

See, the thing about rich people was that they thrived on exclusivity and Oswald understood that well. Having been on the outside peering in most of his life, he knew what it felt like to crave being included. He also knew the thrill of being on the inside, holding power over who could be invited in. Thus, the only way to have a suit tailor-made from The Penguin Suite was by exclusive membership. Any current patron of the shop was allowed to nominate a new client. However, all final invitations were made by Oswald and Oswald only, after he had thoroughly studied their position in Gotham’s high society. After all, he did not want to sully his reputation of serving the top one percent of the top one percent by allowing just anyone to be seen in his suits. His client list barely filled a page of a notebook.

Oswald was in his workshop when he heard the alert signalling the shop door opening. Flummoxed, he looked up from the wool pinstripe fabric he was cutting to glance at the clock hanging over his work bench. No one came to The Penguin Suite without an appointment and it was barely ten in the morning, definitely too early for any of his clients to visit the shop. Frowning, he put down his fabric shears and hobbled over to the screens that showed the security feed to the false front of his shop. Through the grainy quality, he watched as a tall, thin man entered the store. Handsome, Oswald observed in a fleeting way that was more fact than opinion, even in such poor quality. 

The man approached the counter, peering around the store nervously. He placed his hands on the glass countertop and leaned forward slightly, mouth moving, probably trying to catch the attention of the shop owner. Obviously he was greeted with silence.

Usually, Oswald would wait the customer out. Most of the time they wandered in out of curiosity or by accident. They would look around, find nothing of value and leave in under ten minutes. Occasionally, the ones with sticky fingers would pocket a thing or two, but that was why Oswald purposely left out junk on the pine wood shelves he never dusted.

Oswald watched. The minutes ticked by. The man was now curiously studying the objects on display, hands clasped behind his back as though he was trying to hold back from touching. A few more minutes passed. The man straightened, but instead of leaving like Oswald thought, he pivoted on his heel and began to peruse the items on the other side of the store.

“Huh,” Oswald said, a bit perplexed. There was literally nothing of interest in his store front. Everything there was picked up off the sidewalks of Gotham. Looks like he would have to kick this man out himself. 

Ordinarily, he would have been irritated at being ripped away from his work. He did his best work in the morning hours when he was fresh and pressed, before the wear and tear of human interaction. But strangely enough, he felt compelled to meet this stranger who was so fascinated by his fake store.

If only to see if he was actually handsome or if the CCTV was helping him out.

Oswald grabbed his day cane, a simple black number with a silver head, and made his way to the store front. He slipped out of the fake door, careful to pull it shut behind him. The stranger did not hear him. He had his back turned to Oswald, seemingly entranced by an old rotary phone Oswald had found in a back alley on his way home. 

Oswald took the moment to study the man, uninterrupted by the poor quality of his black and white security feed. After all, clothing told a lot about men and Oswald knew clothing.

The man was tall and slim, a lovely figure, Oswald was willing to admit, if only his clothes fit. His suit was a dull gray number, obviously off the rack by the way the shoulders were a little too big and the sleeves hung a little too short, but it was not a completely awful fit. The material was of acceptable quality, so he had enough money to invest in a suit, but perhaps not the knowledge to get it tailored. The cut of the suit itself was modern and slim fitting which told Oswald that the man had enough sense to know what was in fashion, even if he did not quite understand how it applied to him. His shoes, plain black oxfords, were well worn, but polished, which indicated that he was neat and meticulous. Oswald appreciated that. Not many men spent the time to polish their shoes anymore. The overall impression was of someone who tried, perhaps a little too hard, to blend in.

Then, Oswald caught sight of his socks. 

Originally, he had been ready to write the man off as a middle class schmuck who was at best boring, at worst, tedious. A man who’s life revolved around a strict schedule and definition of excitement was staying awake past midnight. He would marry a boring woman, have boring children, and live an uneventful and boring life. But then, from beneath pant cuffs that were much too long, he saw the socks. 

They were a lovely emerald green, especially noticeably against the bland palate of his suit, like pine needles in fresh snow. Purple question marks laid in a diamond pattern against the material, so small they could almost be mistaken as rhinestones. Bold, whimsical, hidden. It was so out of character, so _wrong_ with the image that was being projected that Oswald immediately knew that the socks were saying more than anything else the man was wearing.

Interesting. A man who was not exactly as he seemed. Oswald hated to admit it, but his curiosity was piqued.

“Good morning, friend,” Oswald said cheerfully, putting on his customer service persona as he hobbled to the counter. “I believe you have the wrong store.” 

The man practically jumped out of his skin at the sound of Oswald’s voice. He spun around so fast and so suddenly, Oswald startled, almost jumping himself. 

“Oh! I-hi!” the man said, raising a hand in an awkward wave. 

_Definitely handsome_ was the first thing that floated through Oswald’s head, quickly followed by nerd, though that wasn’t necessarily bad. Dark, deep set eyes, a strong brow, sharp cheekbones, thick glasses that could be fashionable in a vintage sort of way. If only he didn’t look so unsure with his hunched shoulders and fidgeting fingers.

“Are you-would you happen to be Mr. Penguin, sir?” the man asked with a tentative smile.

For a moment, Oswald was mesmerized by the way his lips curled around his words, the flash of white of his teeth. The man was watching him, bright curious eyes sweeping over Oswald like he was cataloging every detail. The observation was a bit too clinical to be flirtatious, but it did not stop a small shiver from running down his spine.

But then the man shifted nervously and said, “Sir?” again and Oswald realized he had been staring for too long. Damn, he was definitely spending too much time in his workshop if he was drooling over the first man that walked into his store that wasn’t a wealthy middle-aged creep. This wouldn’t do. He tapped his cane against the floor once, if only to give himself a moment to reorganize his thoughts and looked away.

“Just because this place is called The Penguin Suite does not mean I’m called Penguin,” Oswald said carefully arranging his face into an amused smile. “You can call me Oswald.”

Wait, no. He meant to say Mr. Cobblepot. 

If he had been alone at the moment, he would have smacked himself on the head. As it were, he grimaced slightly and schooled him expression back to something more neutral. He had always been weak to a pretty face.

“Ah, well, Mr. Oswald, sir,” the man said, gesturing vaguely into the air. He couldn’t seem to keep still, vibrating with something that was equal part nervousness and excitement. His next words spilled out in a rush as though they were fighting each other to be heard. “My name is Edward Nygma. I came here because I’ve heard many great things about The Penguin Suite and I could really use your particular skill sets. You see, I have a family wedding in a few months and I’m in need of a suit! But I can’t just show up in any suit because this is a very important wedding and well, I have a reputation to maintain. Except I don’t know that much about menswear so I thought the best thing to do would be to research the foremost expert in men’s fashion in Gotham and ask them for advice. And let me tell you, Mr. Penguin, sir, you are not an easy man to track down. But I have seen your work and heard testimonies of your skills and I have concluded that you are the best man to help me with my dilemma. . .”

At a certain point, Oswald stopped listening. He got the gist. The man needed a suit and he somehow heard about The Penguin Suite. Someone had been talking which meant someone was going to be taken off his client list once Oswald figured out who it was. 

However, Oswald had an entirely different problem at the moment. As he spoke, the man, Edward, kept stepping forward until he was very enthusiastically in Oswald’s personal space. So close in fact, that Oswald could smell his cologne, bergamot and sandalwood - classic, clean, masculine. Except not really because then Edward moved his hand, wrist waving past Oswald’s nose and he caught a hint of incense and vetier, turning it into a much darker scent than he was expecting. It was a powerful scent, incongruous with the man in front of him who, for the lack of a better comparison, was like an overeager puppy. That was not the problem.

The problem was, Oswald had a thing for scents. Scents, like clothing, told more about a man than what was being said. There was nothing more seductive than the right cologne on the pulse point of a man’s neck. Scents were tied with taste and memories. They were luxurious. The right suit and the right cologne would have every head in a room turning. And right now Edward’s scent was telling him that there was something dangerous, something interesting, coiled beneath the insipid facade he had on. Coupled with the fact that Edward was so close Oswald could feel the heat radiating off his body, he was starting to lose his composure.

“Look, Mr. Nygma,” Oswald cut in sharply before he could do anything foolish like blush. 

“Edward, please,” the man said, grinning happily at being addressed.

“ _Edward_ ,” Oswald corrected. “You obviously know why I am.” At that, Edward nodded. “Then you should know that you are too close.”

It was a cold thing to do and he was almost sorry about it when the smile slid off Edward’s face leaving him looking like a wounded puppy, but he needed to be able to think and he couldn’t do that when the taller man was in his personal space like he owned it. Heaven forbid it if Oswald made a foolish decision like accepting him as a client.

Thankfully, Edward took the cue and stepped back. 

“Apologies, Mr. Penguin, sir,” he said, inclining his head. He clasped his hands in front of him, spine straight. “I meant no offense. I just sometimes…” he paused, an embarrassed look on his face, “I’m often told I’m a little too enthusiastic.”

“Well, a little enthusiasm never hurt anyone,” Oswald couldn’t help but comment. There was something sad about the way the man was holding himself, stiff as though bracing himself for abuse, small like he did not want to bring attention to himself. It made Oswald want to reach out and comfort him. 

Which was _ridiculous_ , Oswald snapped at himself. He only met this man ten minutes ago. Just because he was tall and kind of handsome...okay, fine, really handsome, should not have any effect on him. He worked with rich and handsome men everyday! Which...okay, so maybe they were all douchebags and treated Oswald little better than they treated the help, but still! He should not be oddly charmed by the stranger in front him who was tentatively smiling at the olive branch he thought Oswald had just handed him. 

Because he hadn’t. 

And he wasn’t. 

“Here’s the thing, _Edward_ ,” Oswald said, pulling the name long on his tongue. He would never admit it, but he enjoyed the way the name fit in his mouth. “Even if I deemed you worthy of wearing one of my suits, which I don’t by the way, you could never afford one. I cater to the richest of the rich and a simple two piece costs more than you make in a year.”

“You don’t know what I do,” Edward said. 

Oswald simply gave him a blatant once-over, starting with his ill-fitting jacket down to his polished shoes and back up. Then, he met Edward’s eyes and raised a brow in an unimpressed challenge.

Rather than take offense, Edward furrowed his brows and bit his bottom lip. He seemed to be contemplating something, his eyes acquiring a far away look even as he met Oswald’s gaze. After a few seconds, he broke the silence. 

“While you are correct to assume my job pays little, money is not an issue.”

“Oh really?” Oswald said, sarcasm thick in his voice. “What are you going to do, rob a bank?”

This suggestion seemed to amuse Edward as his eyes darken and a sly grin slowly took over his face, razor sharp. He leaned forward just enough for Oswald to want to lean back, though he resisted the urge. Gone was the insecure man that had been fidgeting in front of Oswald just seconds ago. Oswald blinked, confused.

“If I did, would you help me?” Edward asked, voice a register lower than it had been. “It wouldn’t be too difficult. The security systems are laughably easy to hack and the security guards can barely tell the difference from one end of a gun to another. We could make millions if we hit the right bank at the right time.” Then he straightened, chuckling to himself as though he had just made the funniest joke in the world. There was a hysterical edge to his laughter. 

Oswald gaped at his sudden change, unsure how to react. 

One one hand, Edward was probably, most definitely crazy. On the other hand, this was Gotham and it was easier to find crazy people here than it was to find sane people. He didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt Oswald, though there was a feral glint in his eyes. It was like the man had been replaced by someone smoother, more confident, more dangerous. Someone who sucked the air out of the room and filled it with his presence. Someone who revelled in dominating. Someone who wore strange green socks and dark cologne and caught Oswald’s attention even before he knew he existed.

Huh.

Well. 

This was interesting.

Squaring his shoulders, Oswald made a decision. It was a decision he had made the moment he saw those strange green socks, even though he hadn’t realized it yet. People usually bored him. Sure, they could be fun, but they were only fun in the ways he could manipulate and control them. And he was only able to do that because they were all so obvious with their wants and weaknesses. A mistress here, a child there, a few promotions in between. He knew what people were going to do before they did it.

Edward, however, presented a challenge. For the first time in a long time he hadn’t been able to predict what would happen next. Someone who literally had his tail tucked between his legs a moment ago now stood in front of him with the bored ease of an apex predator. In the same way it made Oswald nervous, it exhilarated him. He was fascinated by this man and The Penguin was never on to deny himself his whims. 

The fact that he was easy on the eyes definitely helped as well. 

“I will make you a suit,” Oswald announced, cutting off Edward’s giggle. 

There was a beat of silence as they stared each other down. Then, just as quickly as the darkness had slid in, it receded, leaving a shocked, wide-eyed Edward. These changes were going to give Oswald whiplash. He’d process it later.

“However,” he continued before Edward could say anything, “since you are not on my clientele list and I am effectively breaking my own rules for you, you will have to pay extra.”

“Anything, Mr. Penguin, sir,” Edward breathed, as though scared anything louder would change his mind. His hands were clasped tight in front of him, fingers twitching slightly. “I am willing to pay anything.”

“Oh Edward, I was hoping you’d say that,” Oswald said coyly. He drew himself up to full height and puffed out his chest slightly. Negotiations and deals were his love second only to tailoring. “You will pay full price for the suit, but on top of that you will owe me a favor, no questions asked. And, I _always_ collect my favors.”

Oswald held out his hand and smiled, sharpened edges and too much teeth. It was a warning and a promise. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” Edward responded emphatically. He was smiling with his whole face. Reaching out, he shook Oswald’s hand so hard he seemed to be using his entire arm. “Thank you so much so much, Mr. Penguin! This is an honor! I really can’t believe-”

“Let’s save this for later,” Oswald quickly cut in before he got too worked up. He carefully extracted his hand from Edward’s grip, surprised at how strong it was and absolutely not noticing how warm or smooth his palm was. “I have appointments to keep. Come back tonight at nine and we can discuss further arrangements.” 

“Yes, of course! Nine o’clock,” Edward repeated with a serious nod. “I really cannot thank you enough, Mr. Penguin. I know you are a very busy man and I am so honored to be able to-”

“Please leave.” 

This time, the grin did not slide off of Edward’s face at Oswald’s clipped tone. Instead, he gave an awkward sort of bow before turning on his heels and practically skipping to the door. Oswald couldn’t help the exasperated smile that threatened to break through.

“And remember to call me Oswald,” he called out just as Edward reached the door. 

He turned his head slightly to acknowledge him. “I will see you tonight, Oswald,” he said, the name low in his throat. With the tinkling of the door chimes, he was gone. Oswald shivered involuntarily, the scent of Edward’s cologne still lingering.

“Ah, fuck,” Oswald cursed into his empty store. But he couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward comes in for a suit consultation after hours. The conversation does not go the way Oswald expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and reviews!!! They mean a lot, especially since it's been so long since I've written. And now for more suits, suits, and SUITS!!!! A lot of my clothing inspiration comes from [here](https://www.twistedtailor.com/), if you need help picturing the suits.

Nine o’clock somehow came too fast and too slow. After Edward left, Oswald spent the rest of the morning in his workshop finishing a navy pinstripe three piece for Mr. Vanderbilt’s fitting later in the evening. It had taken longer than usual, his normally infallible concentration wavering as Edward kept wandering into his thoughts without permission. A few times, he lost focus under the hypnotic hum of the sewing machine and had to rip out the crooked seams, cursing at Edward for being fascinating and himself for falling for it.

Already he was flipping through his mental catalog of fabrics, trying to figure out what would look best on the taller man. He hated to admit it, but Edward had the perfect figure to show off his suits. He was slender, but not too skinny, lightly muscled to fill even the skinniest of suits without looking like he would burst out of it. His shoulders were defined, but not too broad, and Oswald could already see the sharp lines and taper at the waist.  
Absolutely divine.

While Oswald did prefer more traditional cuts, he also recognized that Edward was young, mid twenties to early thirties at most. This gave him an opportunity to try things his normal clients would never agree to, most of them the middle aged mafioso types - pinstripe double breasted jackets with peaked lapels and ridiculously wide ties. His fingers and creativity itched to get started even as he basted the hemline of Mr. Vanderbilt’s pant leg.

Single breasted - Oswald preferred to keep double breasted for his larger clients - with one button, a modern twist to emphasize the waist. Notched lapel, single vent - to keep a bit of convention - and slim cut pants hugging those long, long legs as tight as he could make them without it being obscene. Just for the fun of it, he would make the pant legs a little higher than traditionally warranted, though still in line with modern menswear fashion, so Edward could show off his delightful socks. A waistcoat? Definite yes for a wedding, though maybe he’d experiment with the collar shape. Tie - bowtie or skinny tie? Skinny tie, he wasn’t the groom after all. Something subtly patterned. French cuff shirt - Oswald didn’t really believe in the other types of cuffs.

In between all his pondering, he managed to finish the suit and hang it up in the fitting area, an hour behind schedule. The next few hours were spent going over inventory and orders. There was a specific type of silk he had been trying to acquire for months, made by silkworms specially fed on organic leaves and dyed with some sort of chemical he couldn’t bother to remember the name of. It was illegal in the US, but made the fabric shimmer like an oil spill. He was also waiting for a bolt of chinchilla fur to get in so he could start a winter coat order for Mr. Giovanni.

Maybe he would put Edward in blue. Something subtle, but bright enough that everyone in the room would know the suit was one of a kind. Or maybe a dove gray. Not Oswald’s usual color of choice, a little too unconventional for his taste, but something about Edward made him want to make the man the center of attention. Edward had a wonderful palette of pale skin and dark hair and dark eyes. That meant Oswald did not have to worry about the clashing of colors between model and clothing. He only had to worry about the clothing itself. A nice burgundy would look exquisite against his skin, like fine wine spilled on a tablecloth at a high end restaurant, or lipstick marks left on a collar of a shirt. Perhaps a deep green, earthy and rich with his brown hair. If they were both brave enough, a dinner jacket in eggplant purple offset by black pants, The Penguin’s signature color, but he was gracious enough to lend it out.

Or maybe he could try patterns. Oswald had a collection of check fabric he rarely ever touched. Only one of his clients, a world renowned professor in metahuman science, was eccentric enough to order all his suits in tartan, with the occasional tweed and houndstooth numbers. Edward seemed nerdy enough to be comfortable in those sorts of patterns and Oswald could make it work for a wedding. Though, really, Oswald could make anything work with a pair of scissors and a sewing machine.

The appointment with Mr. Vanderbilt started at six and promptly ended at seven. Oswald went through all the pleasantries, though his heart wasn’t in it, offering the man fifty year old bourbon in a crystal tumbler and politely inquiring after his business. Mr. Vanderbilt was a pompous man, the sort that thought his money had been hard earned rather than handed to him through generations of wealth. Oswald hated men like that. One day, when he finally collected enough secrets from the family’s closet, he would bring him down. But the time was not now and as the clock stuck closer and closer to nine, Oswald began to feel more and more jittery. The only time he was really focused was during the fitting itself as he marked the shoulder seam to be let out and pinned the fabric at Mr Vanderbilt’s calves to be taken in. He knew better than to accidentally stab a client with a pin, though he had a few near misses.

When Mr Vanderbilt finally left, his marked suit folded on the workshop table for alterations the next day, and a newly scheduled appointment for next week, Oswald started to fuss. He didn’t really want to think about why he was fussing, but as he looked around his store, he could see everything wrong. Cushions crooked on the couch, mannequins out of line, stray pins trapped in the thin crevice between the mirror and the floor.

“Olga!” he shouted, tapping his can impatiently on the floor. What did he even pay the woman for? “OLGA!” But of course, she did not appear because she only came into the city on Fridays to clean the store. The rest of the week she stayed in the Van Dahl Estate, keeping it in tip top shape. Today was Thursday. Realizing this, Oswald swore under his breath and limped to the sitting area to fix the cushions. He reminded himself to hire an assistant to help maintain the store. Then, as he picked up the glass Mr. Vanderbilt had drunk from and downed the remaining bourbon, such a fine vintage should not be wasted, he unceremoniously remembered that he had fired the last one because of all the _hovering_. He hadn’t been able to turn around without that bumbling fool of an assistant under his feet.

Well, maybe he’ll keep the new assistant in the fake store front and instruct them to maintain the real store only when Oswald wasn’t present. That way, Oswald could focus on the important things like what he was going to wear, rather than maneuvering his mannequins into place.

“Aren’t you handsome,” Oswald murmured to himself pausing a moment to inspect a dinner jacket he had made entirely out of peacock feathers. He reached out to fix some of the feathers. “Such a shame you’ll never see the light of day,” he sighed.

It took an hour for Oswald to be finally satisfied with how his store looked, the whole time trying to convince himself it was because he wanted to keep a professional level of quality and not because he wanted to impress a man he had just met and knew nothing about. The crystal tumbler had been washed and was back on its tray, faced-down. The mannequins stood like stoic soldiers, guarding the entrance to Oswald’s world. And spare pins were rightfully homed in pincushions and all loose threads were swept up and out of sight.

Now, he had to figure out what to wear.

Looking at himself in the mirrors of the fitting room, Oswald frowned. He was slightly flushed from all the running around and his hair was wilting from the weight of the day. He was dressed in his typical work uniform, crisp white shirt with french cuffs, black continental cross tie, purple brocade waistcoat with a black silk back, and slim black pants. Leather arm garters wrapped around his biceps to keep his sleeves out of the way. No jacket because while it would complete the ensemble, Oswald found that it often hindered his mobility as he worked.

This would not do.

Absentmindedly, he flicked the catch that opened the mirror to his workshop and hobbled inside. An old mahogany wardrobe sat tucked in the corner for occasions like this. Well...not exactly like this. Oswald usually only changed when his most powerful clients came in and he needed to clean up to impress. Edward was definitely not powerful. Or rich. And Oswald did not need to impress him.

So why was he doing this?

Oswald paused.

Why was he doing this?

Because he had to make a point, Oswald reasoned to himself. Edward had caught him by surprise this morning and managed to trick Oswald into designing a suit for him. This time, he would be ready, suitably armored in his favorite pieces, the ones that made his skin glow alabaster and his eyes as blue as the afternoon sky. Not to mention how his favorite trousers made his ass look.

Which was completely irrelevant and neither here nor there because he did not want Edward looking at his ass.

Right.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Oswald returned his attention to the suits that hung in his wardrobe. He did not keep a large collection at the shop, most of his clothing in the Van Dahl mansion, but it was still impressive to the layman. Carefully, he ghosted his hand over the expensive wool and silk until he came upon a black checked number he loved, but rarely got the chance to wear. Most of his clients, being of the older crowd, preferred a traditional look, turning their noses at the more ‘flamboyant’ trends that have been gaining popularity in the younger fashion crowd. This suit would have been too much for most people, but for Edward…

The jacket was overly traditional, echoing centuries passed, with a cropped front and long tails in the back, but simultaneously incredibly modern with black on black check that shimmered subtly in the light and royal purple silk lining that flashed behind him when the tails trailed as he walked. Paired with trousers, a matching waistcoat and a black shirt (with french cuffs, of course), he was set to make an impression. A perfect balance to show that Oswald was not only a man of taste, but someone who dared to challenge traditions and could make them his own.

Of course, a suit without the appropriate accessories was like a cupcake without frosting. Acceptable, but unfinished. To complete the look, Oswald selected a purple paisley tie to match the lining of his suit. He then folded a similarly patterned and colored, but not identical, pocket square into a four point crown and slid it smoothly into his chest pocket. Lastly, he chose cufflinks in the shape of skulls with black diamonds set in the eyes, the matching lapel pin carefully positioned on his chest. A reminder that they were in Oswald’s domain and he was not one to be messed with.

Though, if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure who the reminder was really for.

A glance at the clock told Oswald he only had twenty minutes left before his appointment and Edward did not strike him as someone who would be late. Quickly, he re-fluffed his hair with a bit of pomade. Finally satisfied with the height, relined his eyes with practiced hands and re-powered his nose. He was debating on the merits of lipstick, slightly pinker than his natural tone, when the alert chimed. The security feed confirmed it was Edward, a grainy, nervous figure peering around the darkened store.

Oswald frowned at the lipstick for a few more seconds before deciding it would be too much and dropped it back into the make-up drawer. Taking his time, he adjusted his tie, smoothed a hand over his hair, and tugged his outfit into place. Edward could wait.

When he was finally ready, he pressed a button that automatically opened the fake door, trusting Edward was at least smart enough to take the silent invitation. He grabbed his semi-formal cane, black with an intricately carved pewter head that hid a blade, and made his way out of his workshop. Having decided to wait for the man at the end of the hall, he managed to position himself just as Edward cautiously peeked his head through the entrance.

He caught sight of Oswald first and smiled, teeth glowing in the dim hallway. Then he took a step in and noticed the line of mannequins flanked both sides of the hall. Almost instantly, Oswald was forgotten, Edward’s attention turned to the outfits on display.

“Oh…” he breathed, taking it all in. He flitted from outfit to outfit while Oswald watched him, a smug sort of pride swelling in his chest. He knew he was talented, but it had been a while since someone truly appreciated his artistry, the intricate stories his clothing told lost among men who simply wanted to be loud.

Edward finally stopped midway through the hall and bent forward, eyes bright with fascination as he inspected a rather avant garde blazer Oswald had created in a fit of romantic whimsy. It was not the flashiest piece in his collection, in fact, it might be the quietest, and yet, Edward seemed completely entranced by the details, hand reaching out to touch. At the last minute, he caught himself and looked up at Oswald like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Apologies,” he mumbled, withdrawing his hand. “It’s just all so…” he gestured helplessly, “ _beautiful_.”

“There’s an ancient Chinese myth,” Oswald replied instead, ignoring the apology, “about lovers and red string.” He slowly hobbled over and joined Edward. They both turned back to the blazer.

“The red string of fate,” Edward said quietly, almost as though he was in awe. “They say that every person is born with a red string tied around their, well, the Chinese say the ankle, but the Japanese say the pinky and the Korean believe that it ties around a man’s thumb and a woman’s pinky. Either way, it connects them to their soulmate. The string may twist and knot and stretch, but it will never break and it will eventually lead you to your other half.”

Oswald hummed in acknowledgement, unsurprised that Edward knew the legend. He seemed like the type that had a plethora of useless facts ready for any occasion.  
Though this was one of his favorite creations, Oswald had forgotten what inspired him to make the blazer. All he remembered was staring at a spool of red thread and knowing somewhere deep inside that it was meant to be more. The rest was a blur of drafting and measuring set to the mechanical hum of a sewing machine.

The blazer itself was simple, traditionally cut and navy blue in color, so dark it was black in the dim lighting. He had taken the jacket and completely deconstructed it, slashing off the sleeves and cutting across the chest. Then, he had taken the pieces and carefully reattached them back together, leaving space between each section so the red string hung taunt in the middle, stretched and tense, but strong enough to never break. It had been a vanity piece, too delicate to ever be worn, but it spoke to the romantic inside of him and reminded him of the stories his mother used to tell him about true love. From afar, it looked whole, but up close, it was easy to see the effort and dedication it took to make something damaged complete.

Poetic.

Fascinating that this was the piece to catch Edward’s eye…

Mentally, Oswald shook his head, trying to get rid of the implications.

“Do all these pieces have stories behind them?” Edward asked curiously as he straightened up. His eyes skimmed over the rest of the mannequins, trying to puzzle out their hidden meanings.

“The best things in life always do,” Oswald answered vaguely, following his gaze. The pale blue suit with silk flower petals inspired by an early April morning walking through a whirlwind of cherry blossom petals in Osaka, their kisses as soft as snow, but nowhere near as cold. The blazer overlaid with swatches of pastel tulle, an echo of Monet’s most famous paintings and a reminder of the awe he felt the first time he stepped into the Louvre as a fresh-faced 20 year old out of Gotham for the first time. A set made in snow white, embroidered with hundreds of royal blue plum blossoms like the ceramics that surrounded him one hot, humid summer in Jiangxi, China.

“Then what’s your story?” Edward asked, turning to him.

“What’s my…” It took Oswald a moment to process the question, too caught up down memory lane, but the moment he did, he snapped his head up in bewilderment. Was that a chat up line? Because that sounded like a chat up line.

God, how long has it been since he had been hit on that such a stupid line was causing him to sweat a little.

And yet...as he studied Edward closely, earnest brown eyes and a delighted smile, trying to decide how to answer, all he saw was genuine curiosity. This was a man who liked to know things and at the moment, Oswald was just a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. He meant nothing by it.

Oswald couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that twinged in his chest as he reached that conclusion. He wasn’t even sure why he was acting like this. He met this man only a few hours ago and yet Edward’s obvious approval of Oswald’s work meant more than any judgemental remarks that had been made by his clients throughout the years. That split second that he thought Edward had been flirting with him had filled him with a type of giddiness he hadn’t felt in….well, frankly ever.

This wouldn’t do at all.

So instead, Oswald put on the mask that was The Penguin; imperious, confident, self important, and spread his arms out.

“My story is this store,” Oswald said loftily. “Who I was, who I am, and who I will be are all here. Speaking of which,” he spun on his heels and gestured for Edward to follow, “my time is expensive, so I suggest we get started.”

He could feel Edward scurrying behind him as he led them into the lounge. His tome of fabric samples, suit designs, and sketchpad were waiting for them on the ornate cherry wood coffee table, inlaid with gold accents.

Oswald made his way straight to the alcohol.

“Might I offer you a drink?” Oswald asked, ever the consummate host as he reached for a crystal tumbler.

“Oh no,” Edward said with a quick shake of his head and a sheepish smile. “Alcohol and I are not very good friends.”

He loitered awkwardly next to the couch as Oswald leveled him with a considering look that bordered judgmental. “Somehow that does not surprise me,” he said, pouring out a little more than was strictly acceptable. Once he placed the stoppered bottle back in its place, he immediately took a large gulp. He was going to need it to survive this meeting.

Oswald gestured for Edward to sit down on the couch and arranged himself on the armchair opposite.

“Tell me about this event,” Oswald said as he reached for his book of premade suit designs. It held every collar and sleeve design in existence, a great visual tool when it came to helping clients express what they wanted.

“Oh! It’s going to be a spring wedding,” Edward started, “out at the old Claremont Manor.” Oswald hummed in appreciation. That was an expensively grand venue that almost rivaled his own estate. Anyone who was able to get married there had means.

Oswald considered this fact as he took another sip of bourbon and cast a thoughtful eye at Edward. The other man did not seem to notice as he continued.

“They’re old friends of the family. Our grandparents knew each other or something like that.” Edward shrugged awkwardly, looking down at his fingers tapping a quick double beat against his thigh. “I think it was probably a pity invitation, if I am being honest, but I have an obligation to go.”

“So you want to go and blow them away with a suit made by me,” Oswald concluded, reading between the lines. It was easy to see that Edward was trying to impress people from a crowd he did not belong in. Well, if anything would do that, it would be a suit made by The Penguin.

“I know, it’s pathetic,” Edward muttered. “Like a suit is going to make that much of a difference.”

Oswald sniffed at the statement and glared at Edward. “You’ve obviously never worn a suit made by me,” he said icily.

Edward looked up, eyes round in panic as he belatedly realized he had just insulted Oswald. “Oh no! Mr. Penguin! That’s not - I don’t mean - It’s just-” He flailed his arms, trying to articulate he meant no offense.

At this, Oswald couldn’t help but roll his eyes. How was he supposed to stay mad? This man was more puppy than man. He was not going to survive the bloodthirsty clutches of high society even with bespoke menswear.

With a wave of his hand, Oswald dismissed Edward’s apology and moved on to the next question.

“And your plus one?”

“My...plus one?” Edward repeated slowly. He frowned, eyes turning wary. There seemed to be a different question in the way he was watching Oswald.

“Your partner?” Oswald tried with a touch of exasperation. “Your date? Your girlfriend, wife, mistress, person you’re bringing to the wedding?”

“I don’t understand why that is relevant,” Edward said. He was being oddly defensive and Oswald did not understand why. It was a simple, ordinary question. People brought dates to weddings. That was how weddings work.

“Of course it’s relevant!” Oswald sighed. He wondered if he was going to have to explain every step of the process. “If you’re bringing a date, we have to make sure the two of you match. I can’t put you in blue if she decides to wear orange.”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I won’t be bringing a date.” He paused for a long moment before hesitantly adding, “Besides, my parents would disapprove of any date I bring.”

“Why? Your taste in women can’t be that hor-oh.”

Oh.

Oh.

_Oooohhhh._

Oswald licked his lips, suddenly feeling nervous. If he had not been watching so closely, he would have missed the way Edward’s eyes flickered down to his lips before meeting his eyes again in a mix of a challenge and apprehension of being judged.

God damn it. It had been one thing, appreciating the man when Oswald was not sure he even had a chance. That had been good fun. It was another thing completely when said man was confessing his interest in other men. That was as good as confessing his interest in Oswald! Now, every move he made and every word he spoke had weight and consequences. His palms had become unreasonably sweaty and his heart hadn’t beat so fast in years, not since he had to chase down the child pickpocket that liked to call herself Cat.

This was _exactly_ why Oswald did not bother himself with other people.

“I empathize with your dilemma,” Oswald found himself saying, carefully choosing his words. He forced himself to meet Edward’s eyes, though instinct was telling him to look away. “The world is not always kind to people like us.”

For a moment, Oswald could have sworn he saw something predatorial pass through Edwards features, perhaps it had been a brief twist of his lips, or quick gleam in his eyes, but it disappeared so quickly, Oswald couldn’t be sure it actually happened. Instead, he was left with a visibly relieved client, the ghost of a smile on his lips and his hands no longer fidgeting on his lap.

Oswald cleared his throat and broke their gaze, instead settling his sight on his sketchpad. He grabbed it for a lack of anything better to do with his hands and flipped it open to an empty page. It really can’t be healthy for his heart to beat so fast for so long.

“Let’s talk about preferences. I have a general idea of what will fit you best, but I want to know if there is anything that is non-negotiable.”

The answer, he did not expect.

“Green?” Oswald repeated doubtfully, opening the tome of fabric samples. It took some flipping before he found the swatches. Green was not a popular color for formal menswear for obvious reasons. It was a statement color. Though he had imagined Edward in a green three piece earlier, the color against the pale skin of his throat like emeralds and pearls, he also recognized that it was a color that took confidence to pull off. Confidence he was not sure Edward had.

“Green,” Edward said again with an insistent nod.

“Any particular reason why?” Oswald slid the book across the table.

Edward furrowed his brows as he considered the colors in front of him. Oswald absolutely did not notice the way he also bit his lip in deliberation. So instead, he looked down and instantly regretted that decision, watching slightly mesmerized as slender fingers ghosted over the samples.

“I just...have an affinity for the color,” Edward answered, breaking Oswald away from thoughts he was absolutely not having about those fingers on his skin.

“And question marks,” Oswald added without thought.

Edward looked up in surprise.

“You noticed?”

Oswald lifted a brow in what he hoped looked like superior exasperation in an attempt to cover the slip of his tongue. “It’s my job to notice.”

A hum was all the reply he got as Edward stared at him, eyes calculating behind thick black rims. It was simultaneously unnerving and exhilarating the way the man seemed to be dissecting him. However, it would be a cold day in hell before he would ever admit a weakness like that, so Oswald glared back defiantly, an open challenge for...well, he was not really sure what if he was being honest with himself.

Suddenly, some internal decision made, Edward broke into a smile, eyes crinkling in a way that made Oswald want to flush. Luckily, his foundation covered any changing of colors. Not that he would blush because of a simple smile anyway.

“This one,” Edward said, drawing their attention back to the book with a tap. Beneath his fingers was a sample emerald green, the same tone Oswald had imagined him in earlier. It shimmered boldly in the light, a statement piece if Oswald ever saw one.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball,” Oswald commented, half sarcastic, half genuine as he marked down the selection in his sketchpad. He made a few other notes, things that he would not compromise on, before continuing.

“You don’t approve?” Edward asked when Oswald finally looked up. Oswald was thrown by the insecurity in the set of his lips.

“It’s not that,” Oswald said hastily. For some reason, he felt guilty. It had not been his intention to criticize Edward’s choice. “It’s just a bold color. We’ll have to be careful selecting your accouterments to make sure the outfit is balanced.”

Edward considered his reply for a moment, then nodded. “You can have me, but cannot hold me. Gain me slowly, but lose me quickly. If treated with care, I can be great; and if betrayed, I will break. What am I?” he asked, leaning forward.

Oswald blinked, stupefied. Was that a riddle? Who told riddles anymore? And yet, even as he got over his shock, he couldn’t help but find it cute, the way Edward asked it as though it was a perfectly ordinary way to converse, the way he was waiting expectantly, trusting Oswald to answer.

Because of this, Oswald decided to give it a try, rolling the words in his head. He muttered the lines to himself while Edward waited, a perfect picture of patience except for the way he seemed to slightly vibrate like an overeager puppy told to sit still. Finally, he came to a conclusion.

“Is it...trust?” he asked hesitantly.

A brilliant grin broke over Edward’s face at the answer, so bright Oswald was dazed for a few seconds. “Correct!” he exclaimed. There was a note of triumph in his voice which Oswald found strange. It was almost like he was proud of Oswald for answering, like he was congratulating himself for believing Oswald to be capable.

“I trust you, Oswald, your judgement, your taste. I mean just look at the ensemble you’re wearing right now!” At this, Oswald did blush, warmth heating his cheeks and his gut. So Edward did notice the effort he had put in. “You make art out of fabric and I know you’ll do the same for me.”

The adoration was written clearly in the warm brown of his eyes and Oswald had to look away, taking a moment to recover. Surely it was just admiration for his skills, nothing more. Why was he getting so worked up?Though, to be fair, while he did get complimented on his craftsmanship on occasion, it was usually superficial, comments from his clients that spoke more of how good they looked in the suit rather than appreciation of Oswald’s skills. It had been a while since someone showed actual recognition for Oswald himself. It stroked his ego in a way that he did not want to inspect too closely. It also did not help that Edward was easy on the eyes.

Still flustered, Oswald cleared his throat. “You are a wise man, Mr. Nygma,” he commented nonchalantly, aiming for unfazed and landing somewhere to the left as he stared at the amber of his bourbon a little too hard. “Flattery will get you anywhere.”

He paused, unsure where to go with the situation. One one hand, he was not a man that flirted. It was messy and filled with insinuations that both sides could misconstrue. The dance steps of courting were difficult and he had the grace of a bull in a china shop, preferring to make flashy, loud violent entrances that no one missed. The subtleties of flirting often went over his head and even now, glancing quickly in Edward’s direction, he was not completely sure that he wasn’t misreading the situation.

On the other hand, it seemed like such a waste to not pursue this...avenue of opportunity. After all, Edward brought up his preferences first and from what Oswald understood, people often did not do that without a purpose. The way he was leaning forward in anticipation, the way his legs fell apart a bit wider than necessary, the way his feet and shoulders pointed directly at Oswald were all indication of interest.

Licking his lips, Oswald made a decision. As they say, the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward.

Heart pounding, he caught Edward’s eyes, and raised a brow. “Let’s see how far your flattery can get you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suit Oswald wears at the end is this [one](https://images.app.goo.gl/feJMWBnDbfGVDG5C6/) from Season 4. He had so many iconic looks throughout the show, that little fashionista. I wish the show gave Edward the same treatment. Could you imagine? A dark green smoking jacket or a three piece is green and purple tartan. That green sequins piece from Season 4 also deserved more screen time than it got. 
> 
> Also, the "Red String of Fate" suit actually exists, though the threads were dark blue if I remember correctly. I recall seeing the suit in an editorial somewhere and being intrigued, but for the life of me, I can't seem to find it again. Ah well, tis the way of life.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald needs to measure Edward for his suit and nothing goes as planned. Has it always been so erotic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter was not planned and sort of just...appeared and I couldn't seen to get rid of up, so here we are.

The rest of the conversation went by in a strange blur full of entendres. After Oswald’s comment, the tension in the room visibly shifted. The energy that made the man seem like a puppy before had changed, now coiled tightly in his posture giving Oswald the impression of a predator waiting to strike. 

Somehow, Oswald managed to focus enough to mark down the rest of the specifications for the suit. Notched lapel, single button (he pushed for that one, though to be fair, Edward did not seem particularly bothered either way), single vent, double breasted vest, all in vivid green.

Then came the moment of truth, the one that Oswald was simultaneously anticipating and dreading. 

Somewhere between a discussion of collar shapes and tie widths, he realized he was going to have to take Edward’s measurements. Normally, it meant very little to him. He had a knack for accurately guessing measurements by eye and it made the whole process quicker. The tape measure was more a courtesy for the client’s ease of mind than for himself. He used it to double check himself, but he was hardly ever wrong.

This time, it was different. Oswald found himself purposely not guessing Edward’s measurements, ignoring the fact that he already estimated this morning when he first met the man. He was about to get  _ very _ personal with Edward’s space and it was either going to kill him or be a revelation. He was not sure which one he hoped it would be.

“Just...stand on the platform,” Oswald said with a vague gesture, leading him into the fitting area. He turned away to prepare, but could still see the reflection of Edward out of the corner of his eye, arranging himself in front of the semi circle of mirrors. He looked as nervous as Oswald felt, fists clenched bloodless at his side, the lines of his shoulder tense. His eyes were dark as they tracked Oswald’s movements. 

Oswald slipped off his jacket and hung it up in the back of the room. Then he turned his attention to his sleeves, slipping off his cufflinks and placing them safely into his pocket. Taking his time, he rolled them up, folding his sleeves up twice, careful to create an even edge. By mistake, Oswald looked up and caught Edward licking his lips in the mirror, a flash of pink as his tongue peeked out. If Oswald had been speaking at the moment, he would have stuttered. As it were, he suddenly felt as though his collar was too tight and had to fight the urge to loosen his tie.

Trying to compose himself, Oswald took a bit more time than necessary as he took the tape measure and looped it around his neck. He grabbed his small notepad of client measurements, hands shaking slightly. If it had been anyone else, he was sure they would not have noticed, yet for some strange reason, he was pretty sure it did not escape Edward’s attention.

When he could not avoid the moment any longer, he drew in a deep breath to steel himself and turned around. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“You’re going to need to take off your jacket and your shoes,” Oswald said, trying not to show how dry his mouth felt. “And your tie.”

Edward complied with a nod, slipping the pieces of clothing off with a rustle of fabric that was almost deafening in the too quiet room. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and Oswald suddenly found himself mesmerized by the long column of his throat. What Oswald wouldn’t give for some ambient music at the moment. But no, he had  _ somehow _ lacked the foresight of seeing this moment and had forgotten to turn the sound system on. 

He was never making that mistake again.

Oswald grabbed the jacket and tie when Edward offered them to him, careful to avoid touching his fingers, and hung them up next to his own. He could hear Edward taking off his shoes and arranging them next to the platform as Oswald straightened out the sleeves of the ill fitting jacket. Oswald was dawdling and he was pretty sure Edward knew, too, but the unknown of what was about to happen next was terrifying. It felt like he was going to tip into an abyss and though he went willingly, he was still apprehensive about being consumed by the darkness. Was he a man walking to his death or a man about to find enlightenment?

“Do you need me to take off…” Edward gestured at his belt and for a moment, Oswald felt his brain short circuit. “Most of my research told me that measurements will be more accurate if I -”

“No need!” Oswald cut in quickly and much too loudly. Edward blinked, startled. “Maybe a less skilled tailor might need that, but there will be no need in my shop. I pride myself in the lowest amount of inconvenience for my clients.”

Which was only half a lie. If it had been anyone else, Oswald would have asked, with no real insistence, that they remove their pants for a more accurate measurement. For him, it was more of a custom than necessity. However, he was barely functioning as it was, hands clammy, shirt slowly staining with sweat (thank god he chose to wear black). There was no way he would survive a pantsless Edward, much less measure him. Was he a boxer or a brief man? May Oswald never find out. At least not in the fitting room.

“Let’s-uh- let’s get started,” Oswald said, removing the tape measure from around his neck and pulling it taunt between his hands to stop himself from fidgeting. He kept reminding himself that he was a professional. No matter what was happening or going to happen, he still had a suit to make. “If you could just…” He went behind Edward and tapped just above his wrists to indicate that the taller man should relax his arms. He was careful not to touch skin, but he could still feel the heat radiating through the thin layer of cotton and it sent tingles up his arm.

Oswald was a  _ professional. _

Edward followed the directions compliantly, loosening his arms. He lowered his chin a little and watched as Oswald started his measurements - shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to elbow, elbow to wrist. The tape slithered between Oswald’s fingers as he looped them around one bicep, then the other, then around each wrist, his fingers quick and efficient in a choreography they had danced many times before. He could feel the weight of Edward’s eyes in the mirror, studying his face when it peeked out from behind his broad shoulders and following his hands as they fluttered between measuring and marking down the numbers. The room was beginning to feel stifled.

Oswald was careful not to linger too long, resisting the urge to trail his fingers along the length of the tape as he measured Edward’s back, starting from the bone at the base of his neck, down to the curve of his ass. A curve which Oswald did not notice at all. Because he. Was. A. Professional. 

Silently, he instructed Edward to lift his arms with a tap on his elbows. For some reason, Edward took it as a sign to start talking as well. Oswald assumed he meant for it to be soothing, the tension had been almost too much to bear, but whether it was for himself or Oswald, he was not too sure.

Somehow, the talking was worse than the silence. Edward’s voice was...intimate for a lack of a better word, low and gravelly, the bass of it shivering up Oswald’s spine. And now, Oswald was in front of Edward, unable to escape the heat of his gaze. He could feel the vibrations as he leaned forward in a mock of a hug to measure the circumference of Edward’s chest, his breath stirring up stray strands of Oswald’s hair.

“Did you know the current form of suits that we wear now originated in the 1900s? They came from the stroller suit which was popularized around World War II. Our current style would historically be considered informal wear.”

Oswald slid the tape down to measure his waist.

“In fact, if we want to be technical, the history of suits span all the way back to the Victorian era, when the rich changed outfits throughout the day to match their activities.”

Still the tape slid lower until it wrapped around his slim hips. There was a slight catch in Edward’s breath and if possible, his voice became lower as he determinely continued.

“However, that was not sustainable as Western society entered the Industrial Revolution. We started caring more about efficiency than pomp and circumstance. The death of tradition was further emphasized during the counterculture revolution of the 60s that denounced suits and the ideals attached to them.”

“You seem to know a lot for someone who claims to know nothing about suits,” Oswald could not help but mutter as he pulled away, disguising his need for a moment of recovery by jotting down some measurements on his notepad. At this point, he was not even sure if he was writing numbers or just scribbling incomprehensible shapes. All he could notice was how close Edward was at the moment, the overwhelming scent of his cologne surrounding him in a vague haze where each action did not seem like his own and his hands seemed to move by themself.

He was not sure how he was going to survive the next fifteen minutes. Especially as a consummate professional.

“Understanding the history and understanding how to wear them are two different things,” Edward replied. “One is based on facts. The other is more...artistic.” 

“An artist is only as good as his muse,” Oswald commented offhandedly. Apparently he had lost control of his mouth as well.

“Then who is your muse?”

Perhaps it was a stroke of genius or, as Oswald was more inclined to believe, perhaps it was a moment of madness. But somehow, he found himself peering up at Edward through lowered lashes. Holding his gaze, Oswald slowly started to lower to his knees. He could see Edward swallow, eyes widening slightly. 

“I don’t have one at the moment,” Oswald answered, implications clear in his voice. The tension between them thickened, sweet and syrupy until their breath seemed to sync and the air crackled with possibilities.

They stared until Oswald could not stand it any longer.

He turned his attention to the mile long legs in front of him, desperate for a moment of reprieve. Above him, Edward growled, displeased at the broken eye-contact. The sound, dark and possessive, shot a satisfying chill up Oswald’s spine.

There went any illusion of professionalism.

At this point, he was operating on auto-pilot. The tape stretched and curled around one leg and then the other. He kept his movements controlled and concise, pointedly focusing his attention on the numbers without actually acknowledging them rather than the crotch just a few inches away from his face.

Edward also seemed to be struggling, letting out a strangled sound, a cross between a whimper and a breath, when Oswald started measuring his inner leg. The back of his hand brushed against Edward and he could feel him stir beneath the thin fabric that separated them. A smug sort of satisfaction filled Oswald. It had been a while since he had this effect on another person and the fact that it was Edward only made it better.

“Don’t worry. We’re almost done,” Oswald murmured, as much of a reassurance for Edward as it was for himself. He was pointedly trying to ignore the way his body was responding to the intimacy, but the flood of endorphins from knowing how much he bothered Edward was pushing him over the edge.

“You’re -ah-,” Edward squeaked as Oswald measured up the other leg. He cleared his throat in embarrassment and tried again. “You’re very thorough.” Oswald hummed in reply, not trusting his voice or his words. 

“Yes,” Edward murmured to himself, words quiet and contemplative as though he meant something else. “Very thorough indeed.”

With just the smallest bit of regret, Oswald found himself writing down the last of the numbers and slowly rising to his feet. His bad leg protested, but there was just one place left to measure and he wanted to stretch the moment out for as long as possible.

If he was being honest with himself, he was disappointed. They were tottering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall, but it would seem they were both afraid to be the one that tipped them over the edge. He had expected Edward to make a move while Oswald had been down on his knees. The innuendoes, the implications, the want clouding his eyes until they were almost black….

And yet, he held back. Why? 

Did Oswald misread the situation? 

Unlikely, considering the bulge that was forming in Edward’s pants.

Was he waiting for Oswald to make the first move?

Perhaps.

But that was not going to happen, not with doubt and insecurity wriggling around in the deep recesses of his mind. It was one thing taking risks during business ventures. It was a completely different monster when it came to his personal affairs. His heart had always been a fragile, glass thing and he took care to protect it accordingly.

Perhaps this was actually the better outcome, Oswald thought to himself as he took a step closer to Edward. He let the tantalizing cologne overwhelm his senses. Strangely, it now calmed him. After all, better that nothing happened in the first place than to put himself on the line and risk getting hurt.

With this thought in mind, he lifted his hands and reached around Edward’s neck. 

Edward immediately froze, stock still as the tape slipped past his open collar and wound its way around his throat. He was barely breathing, eyes unusually bright and alert as they rove over Oswald’s face, not unlike a cat ready to pounce. Oswald tried not to feel unnerved

He was not sure what possessed him to do it, maybe it was because he did not particularly enjoy feeling like prey, but Oswald found himself pulling the tape measure a tad tighter than usual, observing the stark black lines along the pale skin of Edward’s throat. It was oddly fitting. 

Edward breathed in, sharp, and swallowed, his Adam's apple pushing against the back of Oswald’s fingers. 

“I guess...that’s it,” Oswald said, his voice unusually loud to his own ears. He stared at the hollow of Edward’s throat, willing himself to step away. He was finding it difficult so he repeated himself. “That’s it.” Finally, he loosened his grip and reluctantly started to pull away.

The tape measure had just slipped off Edward’s neck when suddenly, he sprang into action. Before Oswald could even register what was happening, there was a hand in his hair, gripping so tight he squeaked in surprise. It twisted and pulled, forcing Oswald’s head back. The other hand seized his waist and pulled him against Edward until there were no spaces left between the lengths of their bodies. That was going to leave a bruise. Edward loomed above him, face stormy, teeth bared in something too feral to be a grin. He could feel Edward’s arousal pressing against his stomach. His own response pressed against Edward’s thigh.

Oswald let out a shuddery breath. The tape measure had unknowingly fell to the floor and Oswald had Edward’s open collar clutched in his hands as an anchor. That was going to wrinkle.

A whimper escaped Oswald’s mouth as Edward swooped forward, stopping short of a kiss. The grip in his hair was so secure he could not move away, but that also meant he could not move the millimeter to close the distance between them. He let his eyes slip shut.

“Little bird, little bird, caught in my net ” Edward murmured against Oswalds lips, reverent and threatening at the same time. “What will you do to escape?”

Wait. That was not right.

The moment Oswald realized he was not dealing with just Edward, he felt a surge of adrenaline flood his body. His blood sang in response to the presence of danger. 

“Who are you?” he hissed, eyes snapping open. The icy blue was cold enough to burn.

Edward seemed delighted by the response and chuckled. It was the only warning before he yanked at Oswald’s hair. He found himself staring at the ceiling, throat bare as Edward lowered his head until his lips met the junction where Oswald’s jaw met his neck. He spoke against the thin skin and Oswald felt the vibrations of his words all the way to his toes.

“I feel your every move, I know your every thought. I’m with you from birth and I’ll see you when you rot. What am I?” he asked. 

Then, he scraped his teeth along Oswald’s pulse point, (A threat? A promise? Both?) following its erratic rhythm til it disappeared beneath his collar. Oswald twisted his hands in Edward’s shirt, almost ripping it as he shivered in pleasure.

“I don’t know,” Oswald said through gritted teeth. He could feel a moan threatening to pour out as Edward nipped at his throat, soothing each bite with kiss and lick of his tongue. Edward had moved his other hand down until it was gripping Oswald’s ass, his grip painfully tight. Oswald still could not move, could not seek any friction, could not seek any relief for the heat that was slowly building up.

On a normal day, Oswald hated losing control. This was not a normal day and it was driving him insane.

Edward clicked his tongue in disapproval and pulled back slightly, a mocking frown on his lips. His eyes seemed to be laughing as he took in the way Oswald glared at him, cheeks red, chest heaving in frustration.

“Little bird, I’m disappointed. You’re not even trying.”

“Will you let me go if I answer correctly?”

This time Edward did laugh out loud, an amused huff and a shake of his head. “I don’t think you actually want me to do that.”

“You don’t know what I want,” Oswald said, trying to squirm out of Edward’s grasp. This only made him tighten his grip. Edward was deceptively strong for someone so lanky. 

“Don’t I?” Edward asked before once again attacking Oswald’s throat in small bites and sucks. This time, Oswald could not stop the moan from escaping, clamping down on it just a second too late. He could practically feel the smugness radiating off Edward.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, though it was up in the air whether he was cursing Edward or himself.

Focusfocusfocus, he told himself. He was not sure how much more of this he was going to be able to handle. What he was sure about was the fact that he was going to commit  _ murder _ once he could move again.

Now what had the riddle been again? Feel your every move? Know your every thought? His mind raced as it tried to piece the puzzle together. Normally, he prided himself in being clever, but he could barely think straight with so much  _ Edward _ around him, covering him, enveloping him, making him shake.

Just when he was about to give up,the clues suddenly clicked together.

“Reflection!” he practically shouted. Edward started and pulled back. He loosened his grip in Oswald’s hair, allowing him to move his head back to a more comfortable position. His neck had been starting to ache.

“Very good!” Edward purred, lips stretched into a cheshire cat grin.

“Yes. Very. Now let me go.”

“Oh, but _Oswald,_ not before I reward you.” And that was all the warning he got.

Edward kissed like a man drowning, desperately, hungrily, like his survival depended on it, chasing Oswald when he pulled away in surprise at first. But Oswald put up no pretenses, responding after only a split second of hesitation. This was what everything had been building up to after all. The feeling of Edward’s lips moving against his own, the bite of his teeth as he demanded entry rather than asking for permission, the sweep of his tongue, licking, exploring, like he always owned Oswald’s mouth. It simultaneously felt like being assaulted and being revered.

The hand that had been in Oswald’s hair slid down to cradle the side of his neck, thumb pressed against his jaw to tilt Oswald’s head for better access. Oswald found himself helplessly clinging onto Edward’s shoulder, nails digging in imprints that were sure to last. Edward’s other hand, still holding his ass, was the only thing keeping him standing.

At first, Oswald tried his best to give as good as he got, matching each nip and stroke with one of his own, but it was like fighting against the crashing waves of a storming ocean, a losing battle. Eventually he just let go and let himself be dragged down by the current.

He was happily drowning when Edward seemed to literally disappear from his arms. Oswald rocked forward, off balance, and barely caught himself. He opened his eyes. After being encased by Edward’s warmth for so long, the room suddenly seemed too cold and too bright.

“What…” He looked around, bewildered, only to find Edward a few feet away, slipping his jacket and tie off the hanger. He adjusted his glasses and turned to Oswald with a pleasant smile on his kiss swollen lips. 

“What an illuminating experience,” Edward said, eyes wicked and voice husky. Oswald stared at him, mute with shock, as he put on his jacket and tucked his tie into his inner breast pocket. He had somehow put his shoes back on without Oswald noticing. He seemed amused as he watched Oswald try to process what was going on.

“Same time next week?”

“Huh?” Oswald answered, the whole situation unintelligible to him. His brain was surrounded by a pleasant haze, still centered on the ghost heat of Edward against him, his tingling lips, and his arousal. By the time he had enough focus to realize what was happening, Edward was already gone, slipping through the secret entrance with a soft click.

Something akin to mortification seized Oswald and he was overcome with the urge to scream.

“EEDDDWWAAARRDDD!!!” he shrieked, so loud the resting pigeons on the phone lines outside scattered in a flutter of dusty gray. Beneath them, a tall, thin figure slipped his hands in his pockets and chuckled, the sound oddly light in the darkness. With bright eyes, he looked up at the sliver of moon visible in smoggy skies. Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the moving shadows of Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! We are getting steamy and I have not stretched those muscles for a loooonnnggg time. But I've always found being measured for clothing inherently intimate. And since it's Oswald and Edward....how could I not? Just fyi, the next chapter might take a while as I've been job hunting. But it's halfway written, so it should appear soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald gets an opportunity of a lifetime...with some caveats

Oswald slammed the phone down into the receiver so hard the pencil he kept next to it for note taking threatened to roll off the table. He caught it just in time and placed it none too gently back on the table with a vicious glare. 

There was only one person (a blatant lie as at least eighty percent of Gotham rubbed Oswald the wrong way) who had the ability to put him in such a bad mood and that person was the lovely, renowned, and highly respected _Barabra Kean_. 

Oswald scoffed. He could still remember the days when she had just been a lowly rag columnist, skulking around the alleyways and paying off waitstaff to collect dirt on anyone and everyone. She had propositioned him a few times, hoping to get some dirt on his client, but Oswald was nothing if not discreet. Somehow she managed to expose quite a few affairs and personally ruined the reputations of some of Gotham’s most notable families, gaining a name for herself. By all means, she should have been destroyed by now, crushed for exposing truths of men who could pay for death.

Yet, here she was, a cockroach who refused to die, now the fashion editor of one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in Gotham, if not the whole country. A magazine that Oswald had been trying to get his portfolio into for years now. He highly suspected that coercion had been involved in the acquisition of the position, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to investigate it.

But maybe he should have because the very magazine had just offered him front cover and an eight page center spread along with an exclusive designer interview. 

Which by all means should have been a dream come true, except for the fact that Barbara was only offering the spread to him because Tabitha “Tabby” Galavan had pulled out last minute. And now, if he wanted the spot, he had to prepare at least ten pieces by tomorrow as well as somehow acquire the perfect model to wear them.

This was obviously just fun on Barbara’s end. They had always toed the line of frenemies, trading barbed compliments and veiled threats at gatherings where staff offered unending champagne on polished silver trays and dinner lasted at least seven courses and everyone left hungrier than when they arrived. At the end of the day, they both had their name and their family’s reputation. Though they both loved their work, it did not hide the blue blood that ran through their veins and it made them competitive. Barbara wanted to see him dance. And worse, Oswald was going to do it because it was a chance he could not pass up.

Still fuming, he picked the phone. He was going to have to give a call to Butch Gilzean, manager at G.Star Talents. While G.Star did not have a best selection of models, he grudgingly respected Butch. They both operated on the same level and spoke the language of clean, but vaguely shady. Oswald had helped him a few times when some of his models got tangled up in illicit activities and with such a last minute request, he was going to have to use all the good grace he had.

“Boss, you’re asking for a bit much, aren’t ya?” Butch said as soon as Oswald explained his situation.

“Do you have someone or not?” Oswald snapped. 

There was a sigh on the other end and then some rustling as Butch got up. Finally, Oswald heard the sound of flipping pages. They were getting somewhere.

“Did ya have an eye color preference?”

“No, but I want dark hair and pale skin.”

“Measurements?”

Oswald rattled out some numbers in response.

“Hmm…” There was silence as Butch assumedly went through his files. Oswald found himself tapping his foot as he waited. Patience had never been his strong suit, but he could not risk upsetting someone who could potentially help him. So instead, he let himself gaze around his workshop, picking up on stray threads that he had to remember to sweep up later and pattern pieces he had forgotten to put away. He pointedly refused to look in the corner with the mannequin dressed in a splendid emerald green.

It was not finished, the outer layer basted together, thick white thread crisscrossing before fluttering free, edges unhemmed, but it was ready for the first fitting tonight. 

Tonight.

Just thinking about it made the butterflies in Oswald’s stomach swarm so frantically he felt like puking. It had been hard enough trying to piece the suit together. Every time he touched the smooth green fabric, he was reminded of Edward. His hand, his heat, his taste, his scent, a mix of desire, anger, and embarrassment overwhelming him until his hands shook and he could no longer sew straight. What usually took a few hours ended up taking a few days. And every time his thoughts strayed, he had to pick out crooked stitches and missed edges, mistakes he had not made since he was apprenticed at fifteen. After the fifth time, he finally realized it would be more effective if he just took a break whenever his mind started wandering too much. 

Thus, seven days later, he found himself attaching the last sleeve right before the phone rang with Barbra Kean’s fated call.

“I got one!” Butch exclaimed. Oswald snapped his gaze away from the suit he was unknowingly staring at and turned back to the phone.

“Perfect! Just send-”

“Ah, wait, no. You need him for tomorrow, right?”

“Butch…” Oswald said, warning clear in his voice.

“Hold on,” he muttered, followed by the sound of more paper. Oswald could never understand why the man did not digitize his files, but Butch always made some excuse about not trusting technology. Finally, right as he felt his patience disappear, Butch came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Boss. I got nothing for ya. Everyone that fits your description is working tomorrow.”

Oswald inhaled. “You are completely USELESS!” he shrieked into the phone before slamming it down. Heaving, he snatched his cane from where it was resting on the table and hobbled out of his workshop. 

One problem at a time. He would mend his bridges with Butch later, but right now, he was still missing a model and he had to pick the suits for the spread. He was also going to have to pick an outfit out for himself since his picture was going to show up in the interview section.

Already, he was going through his mental catalog of suits. He would pick five of his most artistic pieces, two classic suits, and three that straddled the line to show his full range of skills. A few of the ones he had in mind were at the Van Dahl mansion collecting dust, so he was going to have to remember to give Olga a call later to tell her to press them before sending them into the city. The rest he would select from his collection.

Reaching the end of the hall, Oswald turned on his heels and faced the rows of mannequins in front of him. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest as he scanned over the assortment of fabrics and colors. Here he was, a general about to go to battle and these were his soldiers.

Organizing everything took longer than he had expected. A few hours in, just as he zipped up the last suit in a suit bag, he got a call from the photographer, one Victor Zsasz who sounded entirely too cheerful for Oswald’s liking. Somehow he ended up convincing Oswald that the best place for the photoshoot and interview was at the Van Dahl estate to truly ‘capture Oswald’s essence, the beauty, the grace, the elegance, whatever that meant. He had not been lying when he told Edward that flattery got people far, especially when it came to Oswald himself.

After he hung up, Oswald found himself frantically dialing the mansion. There were a few choice grumbles from Olga, but the call ended with the promise that the mansion would be spotless by tomorrow and that one of the butlers would come with the driver that night to help Oswald move everything from the store.

By the time he got all his affairs in order and plopped down on the couch, exhausted, he had all but forgotten about his appointment with Edward. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back until it rested against plush cushions and released a breath that seemed to drain out all the tension from his limbs. His mind was still racing, double checking, triple checking his mental checklist, but everything had been ticked off. Everything except - 

Just as he reached the issue of a model again, the bell rang. Oswald shot straight to his feet, wincing as his leg throbbed in protest. He looked around bewildered. Who could possibly be bothering him at this time? He had cancelled all his appointments and his driver was not due until eleven. Then his eyes settled on the ornate clock above the fireplace and realized with a feeling of dread that he had forgotten about Edward. How could he have forgotten about Edward?

Swearing under his breath, he limped over to the mirrors of the fitting room to check his appearance. He did not have the emotional capacity to deal with the mess of a man at the moment, nor the mess that he turned into when Edward was around. It was with a pinched mouth that he took in how harried and tired he looked, bags under his eyes darker than usual and his hair wilting under the stress. He was still in his usual work attire, sleeves kept up by leather garters. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now.

With a fortifying inhale, he turned away from the mirrors and found the hidden catch for the door. He had been thinking about this moment for a week, half with bated anticipation and half with deep seated dread. At first, he had been convinced he was going to murder Edward on sight for disappearing so abruptly and causing Oswald so much inner turmoil. But as the anger subsided, it became curiosity. At a certain point, he was pretty sure Edward had no longer been himself. It had been hard to tell when the shift happened, but somewhere between measuring the length of his inseam and the circumference of his neck, the shadow that lurked beneath his usually nervous facade came to the surface. It had been the shadow that asked him the riddle, husky voice against the shell of Oswald’s ears. The shadow that had twisted his hands into Oswald’s hair and pulled until he was no longer sure if he was feeling pleasure or pain. The shadow that laid claim to Oswald’s mouth, but really his entire being as though his only purpose of existence had been to belong to Edward.

Which usually led him back to contemplating murder because Oswald belonged to _no one_. He made sure of that. But then, he started thinking about how much of a waste it would be, what with those hands and that tongue and that voice, and those shoulders , and...eventually, he became too flustered to think straight, much less contemplate on why Edward had asked the riddle and what the answer meant. The best option would be to play it cool, pretend he had not been affected at all. He could absolutely do that.

Except, it turned out, he did not have to.

Any thought of murder, arousal, or confusion flew out of Oswald’s head as Edward walked in wearing the ugliest sweater to ever exist layered over his shirt and tie. It was multicolored, set on a background of beige with strange geometric patterns that were reminiscent of a kaleidoscope. Oswald felt so much scorn rose up in his throat that if he had been a cat, he would have hissed.

“Take that off!” Oswald demanded at once. He pointed an accusing finger at the monstrosity. The bright smile that had been one Edward’s face faltered and was replaced with confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, now we’re shy?” Oswald said sarcastically, taking a step back as Edward stepped forward. The sweater was seriously so offensive he could not bear to be less than ten paces from it. “Your sweater is a crime to humanity and I need you to get rid of it right now.”

Edward looked down in surprise. “Is it? I found it in the clearance rack -”

“It was there for a _reason_ , Edward,” Oswald said exasperatedly. “Now take it off because you’re going to have to take it off anyway.”

“I...oh…” Suddenly, Edward became nervous, eyes shifting down to the ground, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the sweater. He opened his mouth a few times like he wanted to say something, but closed it again every time.

“What is it?” Oswald finally demanded when the silence became a bit ridiculous. He contemplated stalking over and taking the sweater off himself, but, well...considering everything that had happened, he was not sure where that would lead and he did not have time for those complications at the moment, as tempting as they were.

Edward licked his lips. “I just…” he breathed in and forced himself to face Oswald. A stray thought flew through Oswald’s mind. Edward’s eyes were incredibly brown, brown in the way that was warm and deep like sinking through molasses. Had he noticed this before?

“I wanted to apologize for last time,” Edward said, words spilling out in a rush. An echo of the mortification from a week ago climbed up Oswald’s spine like ice. “I don’t know what came over me. Well, I do, but it’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have- It wasn’t appropriate. I behaved abhorrently.”

Edward was apologizing. What was he trying to say? That the kiss meant nothing? That it had been a...what? Accident? Unintentional consequence of the moment? Something that will never happen again?

Oswald felt himself spiraling into a panic. Had he completely misread the situation? But he couldn’t have because Edward kissed him first. In fact, Edward had been the one to escalate the whole situation beyond repair. Except...it had not exactly been Edward, had it? It had been the shadow, lurking right underneath, shifting and coiling, waiting for a chance to strike. So what did that mean? Edward did not like him, but the shadow did? The shadow did not like him, but thought it would be fun to play with Oswald? They thought he was a bad kisser? No one liked him and this whole situation was ridiculous? The panic turned into anger. He would _not_ be made a fool of.

“I suppose you go around kissing all the men you meet like that, then,” Oswald said, nonchalant in that cold way that told everyone in a fifty year radius that he was _furious_. 

Edward seemed to get the memo because he somehow managed to become meeker. He shivered as though the room physically dropped ten degrees. 

“No! Of course not! I don’t - It’s not - I’m just…” His eyes darted around, frantically searching for the right words. Oswald suspected that he was not often speechless.

“No? Are you sure? Because you seemed pretty confident last week for a man who claims they don’t kiss men they just met.”

“It’s not like that!” Edward exclaimed.

“Then please, tell me what it’s like.” Oswald gestured mockingly between the two of them.

“It’s -” Edward started to speak, but suddenly clamped his mouth shut. A vein in his neck throbbed as he seemed to be internally fighting with himself. Finally, through gritted teeth, he managed to say, “It wasn’t me.”

Oswald took a moment to process the answer. So his suspicions had been correct. It hadn’t been Edward that kissed him. It had been the shadow. But that still did not make their intentions any clearer.

“If it wasn’t you, who was it then?” Oswald asked, deciding to play dumb.

“I feel your every move, I know your every thought. I’m with you from birth and I’ll see you when you rot. What am I?”

This damn poem again. 

“A reflection. What’s your point?” 

Edward swallowed. “There is a...reflection that exists that is a part of me and he sometimes...he…” Edward was sweating, every word was a struggle to get out. It seemed like he did not talk about the shadow often. Or perhaps it did not let him talk about it.

“So did he kiss me or did you kiss me?” Oswald cut in, getting straight to the point. Not only was it painful, watching Edward fight with himself, but Oswald’s emotions could not handle this conversation for any longer than they had to. The longer it went, the more tempted he was to just default into anger because anger, Oswald understood anger. The fear and trepidation that came along with...whatever this was? Not so much.

Edward muttered something under his breath in response.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Oswald said, leaning forward.

“I said, he did!” Edward snapped. “He’s the one that kissed you, okay? He knew I wanted to, but he knew I wouldn’t make a move so he decided to step in and ‘push things along’ because you were obviously attracted to me, but he got it wrong and you’re obviously _not_ attracted to me so I’m sorry and I will leave now.” 

The outburst stunned Oswald and it took a second before he realized that Edward had turned on his heels and was making his escape.

“Wait!” he shouted, grabbing Edward’s arm. Somehow he managed to close the distance between them, something his leg was not thankful for. Half of him could not believe he was touching that hideous sweater. The other half was noticing how defined Edward’s bicep actually was. The layers made him look deceivingly thin. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Edward apologized again. He was tense, refusing to look at Oswald. “I did an awful thing and even if it technically wasn’t me, I should have had better control over it. I understand if you want to yell at me or maybe even slap me if it makes you feel better. I just...would very much like it if I could keep my life and my limbs.”

Oswald couldn’t help but snort at that. Looked like the rumors being circulated about him were not that far off from the truth. 

“You idiot,” Oswald said. The moment the words came out of his mouth, Oswald wanted to take them back. They were fonder than he had expected them to be and even Edward did not miss the tone, hesitantly turning to look at Oswald.

“What I mean to say is...I didn’t...I didn’t mind the kiss, so I’ll let you keep your life and limbs this time,” Oswald said, trying to be nonchalant, though he was bright pink beneath his foundation. 

Edward stared at him in wonder, mouth falling open. If possible, Oswald turned redder.

“Besides, I am a man of my word and I promised you a suit.” He realized that he was still holding on to Edward and took a step back, letting go with a vague sense of regret. Armed with new knowledge, he was sure it was disappointment he saw on Edward’s face as he glanced down. “Let’s get you fitted.”

~

It was simultaneously more awkward and more comfortable now that both of their feelings were mostly out in the open. However, it put them in a strange position where neither was willing to make the next move. Perhaps it was because they did not know what the next move was. Oswald was not all that experienced in the pursuit of love and neither, it would seem, was Edward. 

As Oswald handed over the half made suit, he contemplated if he should just take the chance and kiss the man. After all, Edward had admitted that he wanted to do it, so it would not be unwelcomed. And, as he watched Edward disappear to get changed, there was a high possibility that it could lead to kinky fitting room sex. But then again, The Penguin Suite was his establishment and did he really want to sully his pride and glory like that? Not mention, he would be the one cleaning up - well, really it would be Olga or one of the maids she would send down, but he would have to tidy up a bit first - and the fact that he would no longer be able to look at the fitting room without remember what went on in there. Most importantly, did he really want to deal with cum stains on the luxurious fabric of his suits? 

Before he could come to a conclusive answer, Edward appeared again, taking Oswald’s breath away. Though the suit was only a shell of what it will become, Oswald could clearly see the end product and it was even better than he had imagined.

The green was resplendent against Edward’s skin, shimmering in coy winks under the light. The jacket tapered in at the waist perfectly, showing off how naturally narrowed they were and did the dual job of accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. For a moment, Oswald remembered how they felt them under his hands, strong and assured as he clung on for dear life. Hopefully he would be holding on to them again soon.

A bespoke suit made all the difference and Edward definitely felt it. Already, his back was straighter and his gait more confidence as he stepped onto the platform where Oswald was waiting. His dark eyes were bright with delight and his grin was bashful, yet pleased. This was a man who was not often confident in himself and it gave Oswald a sense of pride that he was able to pull it out of Edward.

“Let’s just check the hems,” Oswald murmured, tugging at the sleeves to make sure they were falling correctly. His fingers tingled pleasantly when they brushed against Edward’s hand and a quick glance upwards told him that he was not the only one who felt it. Edward was watching him with something akin to awe, lips parted slightly, cheeks dusted light pink.

Oswald cleared his throat awkwardly. Was this…? Seized with a sudden panic, he stuffed a few pins into his mouth and turned his attention back to the sleeves. He was not ready. He was not sure what he was not ready for, but all he knew was that he was not ready. Not ready for the way his heart was in his throat, not ready for the way Edward looked at him like he was the sun, not ready for the possibilities of what this could be or the way this could burn.

So, Oswald did what he did best and tailored.

It was a testament to Oswald’s skills that almost no adjustments had to be made. The shoulders fell in line perfectly. The jacket creased where it should. The sleeves fell right at the top of the wrist, allowing exactly half an inch of shirtsleeve to show, enough to display the amethyst cufflinks Oswald had in mind. The pants were tighter than convention, though not tighter than modern fashion and made Edward’s legs endless. It should be a crime to be so tall. The hem brushed against the top of his ankle bone with the perfect amount of space to show of Edward’s strange socks. Today, they were a heather gray with evenly dispersed penguins wearing bow ties. How cute.

After the last pin was inserted and every stray piece of fabric tucked where they were supposed to be, Oswald took a step back. All feelings aside, Edward was a sight to behold. He literally glowed underneath the light. He was a perfect canvas, hair glossy, so dark it was almost black; expressive eyes hidden behind glasses, curious and open at the moment, but could smolder; skin just pale enough that bright colors were especially vivid. Add to the fact that he was literally all lines and angles he could almost be a model.

Oswald repeated the thought to himself. Then he considered Edward again. Was this the solution to his problems? He had Edward’s measurements and they were close, if not exact, to what he had wanted. He fit all the requirements that Oswald had given Butch. Sure, he never modeled before, but everyone starts somewhere and with the right photographer and encouragement, miracles had been known to happen.

“You owe me a favor…” Oswald said slowly, more to himself than anyone else.

Edward blinked and looked away from the mirror where he was observing himself and perhaps preening just a little. “Excuse me?”

“Yes,” Oswald said, plan solidifying in his mind. This could work. He cycled through all the outfits he picked, imagining Edward in them. “You owe me a favor and I am collecting.”

“Already?” Edward asked, surprised.

“Desperate times, my friend.” Oswald started walking around the platform, eyes calculating as he inspected Edward from head to toe. Now was not the time for his bias. He could feel himself slipping into business mode. “I am in desperate need of a model for tomorrow and you are going to fill in.”

“Doing what?”

“Wearing my clothes, taking pictures, doing whatever the photographer tells you to do- you know, modelling.” Oswald stopped in front of Edward with a self satisfied smirk. Take that, Barbara Kean. It would be a cold day in hell before he let the opportunity of a front page spread slip through his fingers.

Oswald was greeted by round, wide eyes behind glasses. “I can’t - Oswald, I don’t know how to model,” Edward said, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. “No one would want to look at me anyway! I’ll just ruin your clothing.”

“Oh, Edward,” Oswald sighed, “Let’s not be facetious. You know you’re handsome. Or at least -” Oswald tilted his head, insinuation clear, “-the other you does.”

“We’re not the same,” Edward protested weakly.

“No, but you look the same.”

“Still…”

“Edward,” Oswald softened a little, taking in how panicked he looked. He sometimes forgot how cold and cruel his business persona could be. “I really need your help or I wouldn’t be asking. You just have to wear my suits and stand in front of the camera. Let the clothes do the talking.” 

“I still don’t think…”

Oswald took one of Edward’s hands in his and looked up at him imploringly. On the inside, he was dying of embarrassment and impressed by his own bravery. He was also a bit ashamed of himself for trying to manipulate the other man. But then he saw a flash of a smirk, a lightning quick twitch of the lips, an acknowledgement from the shadow of a game well played and he felt less guilty.

“Please, Edward. I really need your help. I would not be asking otherwise!”

“And this would constitute as the favor?” Edward said, seemingly fixated on their hands.

“Yes, after this, we are squared.”

“I would have to call off work…”

“Just say you’re feeling under the weather.”

“I hate lying…”

“This is lying out of necessity.” 

Edward hesitated and licked his lips. 

“Please, Edward, I’m desperate.”

There was a long pause where Oswald hardly dared to breathe. Edward had his brows furrowed in concentration and Oswald suspected that he was having a conversation with his shadow. 

The response eventually came in a squeeze of the hand and a tentative smile. 

“Anything for you, Oswald,” Edward said. “I’d do anything for you.”

And though the words came out shaky, the undercurrent of determination between them made warmth coil pleasantly in Oswald’s stomach, reaching up until it curled around his heart.

“You’re going to be magnificent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!!! Sorry the nygmobblepot wasn't as strong this chapter, but I had scenes to set up. Next chapter is going to be fun! You know...once I finish writing it.


	5. Chapter 5

After Edward had agreed to model for Oswald, Oswald had gone back into business mode. He gave Edward all the information he needed and rushed him off. A model needed his sleep and it would not do if Edward showed up the next day with bags under his eyes, no matter how much Oswald wanted to spend time with him.

The car came to pick up Oswald right on time and with the help of his driver, he managed to move everything back to the mansion in one piece. Zsasz was not expected to arrive until noon the next day, so Oswald decided to save all the organizing for the next morning. He made sure all the suits were hung up properly on the clothing rack Olga had somehow scrounged up and placed in the foyer, and made his way to bed. After all, he was having his picture taken as well and it would not do for him to have black bags under his eyes either.

The next morning was a veritable mess of running around and screaming as Oswald flew from room to room, searching for ties, cufflinks, lapel pins, tie bars, and collar pins. At first he had wanted to place everything in the kitchen, more room to maneuver, but then he was quickly reminded that the kitchen was going to be used to provide refreshments for everyone. After a small tantrum, he decided to set up in one of the spare bedrooms on the first floor. It was not like he was lacking space. Olga handled it all with silence, grace, and the long suffering sighs of a woman who was too used to Oswald’s moods.

Victor Zsasz arrived in a flamboyant shower of sparkles...figuratively that was. Oswald may have murdered him, world renowned photographer or not, if he had dared to throw glitter in his foyer.

“Penguin, how long has it been?” he exclaimed as soon as Oswald opened the door. Oswald grimaced as he grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and air kissed him twice, a hazard of the business.

“Eons, my friend, eons.” Not much had changed since Oswald saw Victor last at some benefit gala a few years ago. Though Zsasz had been a guest that time, he had still brought his camera and took award winning level pictures that he eventually sold to Vanity Fair. Oswald had been furious at first when Zsasz snapped a candid of him, but after he was shown the picture, he conceded defeat. Zsasz had a reputation for a reason and if he managed to make Oswald look good? Well, who was Oswald to complain. Combine that with Victor’s easy going personality and they reached an acquaintanceship of sorts, if not even a tentative friendship.

It was not wrong to say that Victor Zsasz did not look like a photographer. With the DSLR camera around his neck, and a wicked gleam in his eyes, it would have been a more logical leap to assume he was a private detective. Nothing about him was particularly artistic. He preferred dark colors and militant lines in his clothing. His smile was sharp and often discomfiting like he knew where all the bodies were buried. He also had a penchant for reptilian animal skins that Oswald did not quite understand, but did not begrudge. Even today, with his black on black on black ensemble, he wore a waistcoat made of crocodile skin that gleamed threateningly under afternoon sunlight. 

Luckily, his personality was the opposite of how he dressed.

“Come, show me the house while my assistants set up!” Victor said cheerfully, looping his arms through Oswald’s. He waved the two women behind him, dressed in matching dark colors, into the house and started dragging Oswald forward. 

He chattered away a mile a minute as Oswald led him through the halls of the mansion. Zsasz took it all in with a critical eye, asking abstract questions about the history and certain pieces of furniture. The parlor, the library, the dining room, even the master bathroom with its white porcelain clawfoot tub, a remnant of a time long passed. Oswald was glad he had Olga clean the whole house yesterday. 

Oswald had no idea what Zsasz was imagining as he took everything in. The photographer had a skill of filling a room with words without actually divulging any information. He seemed satisfied though and even a bit excited when he untangled himself from Oswald and got on his hands and knees to inspect the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

Eventually, he led Victor to the bedroom where one of his assistants was setting up back lights and reflectors and the other one was spreading out her makeup brushes and bottles of foundation on the vanity. They immediately launched into a conversation about lighting and exposure Oswald could not follow even if he wanted to.

Right on cue, the bell rang.

“That must be the model!” Victor exclaimed. During their tour, Oswald had informed him that the man who was going to be wearing his clothes was a fresh face. Though he did not detail his relationship with Edward, Zsasz had shot him a knowing look out of the corner of his eyes and Oswald involuntarily blushed, giving himself away. Thankfully, Zsasz knew better than to make a comment.

Victor followed Oswald to the door and they were both treated to a freshly scrubbed, casual Edward. Oswald short circuited for a moment, taking in the soft white t-shirt that clung to the contours of his shoulders and chest and the tight dark wash jeans that definitely took a few jumps to get into. It should be a sin to look so good in casual clothes.

“Oh, you are  _ adorable _ !” Zsasz cooed. “The camera is going to eat you up!” Oswald started, breaking out of his trance. He surreptitiously checked to make sure he had not been drooling. Thankfully he had kept his mouth closed and could still save at least that much of his dignity.

Edward looked at Oswald nervously, but before he could so much as say hi, Zsasz had grabbed Edward by his forearm and was pulling him toward the ‘dressing room’. It took a second before Oswald caught up. He closed the door with more force than necessary, feeling annoyance flare up in his chest as he followed behind the two men. He glared daggers at where Zsasz had a hold on Edward, but if the photographer noticed, he did not show it. Somewhere in the shadows, Olga rolled her eyes. 

With Victor in charge, it did not leave much room for greetings, much less conversation. He literally threw Edward into the make-up chair and his assistants descended upon him like vultures. Alarmed, Edward looked around the room until he caught sight of Oswald who was lurking near the door. He asked a question with his brows and Oswald answered with a smile that was more reassuring that he felt. Still, it seemed to do that job and Edward obediently closed his eyes and tilted his head up at the instructions of one of the assistants.

“Where did you find him?” Zsasz asked, leaving Edward to guide Oswald to the clothing rack. He flicked through the suits, pausing to consider every once in a while. 

“He just...walked in,” Oswald said, half watching Edward and half watching Zsasz as he handled Oswald’s work.

“Let’s thank god he did! He’s going to be a vision in front of the camera.” 

Though Oswald agreed, the way Victor was talking about Edward was rubbing him the wrong way. It was more appreciative than Oswald was comfortable with and he was starting to regret asking Edward to model for him. It was one thing when he got to admire Edward alone. It was another thing entirely when he was being laid out for everyone’s eyes to prey upon. Damn Barbara Kean for forcing him into a corner. She was going to be the worst of them once she got her claws on the prints.

However, Oswald did not have too much time to dwell on that thought because when Victor Zsasz got to work, he  _ got to work _ . Victor decided to start with one of Oswald’s more artistic creations. Made from a shimmering fabric that oscillated between gold and royal blue, it sported tufts of gold tulle from the shoulders, stiffened and arranged to give the impression of wings about to spread in flight. Oswald had designed that after he accidentally found himself outside one evening, watching the birds flutter between the shifting colors of dusk.

With a decisive nod, Zsasz handed off the suit and led Oswald outside. They were going to start in the gardens. Normally, Oswald only kept the grounds in semi-acceptable conditions. He quite enjoyed the somewhat aesthetic of overgrown thorny brambles creeping up the gray stone of his manor. In the summer, the estate looked positively haunted, but it was autumn now and the chill, crisp air had naturally trimmed the plants, most of them already half dead 

“Could you just…” Zsasz pointed at some dead rose bushes and positioned Oswald in front of them, using him as a stand in as he adjusted the settings of his camera. He snapped a few pictures of Oswald squinting awkwardly in the sunlight, then fiddled with some buttons. Then he turned and adjusted the angle of one of the reflectors. At some point, his assistants had moved all the equipment outside and Oswald had not even noticed. 

As if summoned by thought, they appeared with Edward in tow. Zsasz clapped in delight once he caught sight of his model and if Oswald had been anyone else, he might have swooned. Instead, he just had to deal with a dry mouth and the way his heart was beating erratically against his ribcage.

The jacket was layered over a thin white t-shirt, the kind that was more tissue than fabric with a low neckline that showed the sharp lines of Edward’s collarbone and small, artful rips that flirted with hints of skin. The pants matched, pulled wonderfully tight across his thighs and his feet were bare. 

Edward looked at Oswald for approval and it was all he could do to smile reassuringly. Slowly, he approached the taller man. The assistants were now helping Zsasz adjust the scene to his liking. 

Up close, Oswald could see the gold that shimmered on Edward’s cheekbones. His hair was styled higher than usual, swooping up like it defied gravity and his lips were painted a shade lighter than usual, making sure all the attention was drawn to his eyes. Without glasses, they were lined with kohl and the color of honey in the sunlight. If he had not been drowning before, he was definitely drowning now.

“You look...wonderful,” Oswald offered weakly when he was close enough to touch. Tentatively, he reached his hands out and straightened Edward’s lapel. The heat beneath his fingers made him swallow. 

“Thanks,” Edward said quietly, just loud enough for the breeze to carry the words to Oswald’s ears. “I’m quite nervous if I’m being honest.”

“You’ll do fine. Victor is a skilled photographer.” 

“But you’ll-” Oswald moved to let go, but Edward quickly grabbed his hands and pulled him in close. Oswald looked up with a startled blink. “You’ll stay, right?” Edward asked, the worry evident in the crease of his brows. Though he looked unapproachable, Oswald could see the nervousness shifting beneath all the clothing and make-up. Suddenly, Oswald realized that he never got the chance to check in with Edward. He had not even been given the chance to say hello. They had both been pulled away from each other from the beginning and their individual responsibilities kept them apart. What Edward needed was something familiar to ground him.

“Of course,” Oswald said with an amused huff. He smiled to make sure Edward knew he was joking. “Like I would leave you neanderthals alone in my own home with my priceless works of art.” A bit of tension disappeared from Edward’s shoulders. “Just smolder and do what Zsasz says and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure I can sm-” Edward’s sentence was cut off by a shout from Victor. They both turned to see him waving at them, gesturing for Edward to get in position. Oswald frowned and Edward reluctantly let go of his hands.

“I guess this is it,” Edward said. He took a deep breath to fortify himself. Oswald nodded encouragingly. With a grimace he made his way to the rose bushes.

To say Edward was a natural would be an exaggeration. He was incredibly stiff at first, back ramrod straight, elbows and knees at unnatural angles. His expression was a cross between pained and scared. Zsasz shouted encouragements from behind the camera, but that only seemed to make him more tense. 

After a few minutes of this, Oswald could clearly see frustration mounting on both sides. A wrinkled had formed between Zsasz’s usually smooth brow and his assistants seemed wary, casting nervous glances at him. Edward was clenching his teeth so hard Oswald could see the vein in his jaw throb. 

“Cut!” Oswald shouted, waving his hands in the air before this trainwreck could go any further. 

Zsasz looked over in surprise, lowering his camera. “That’s only for film.”

“Whatever,” Oswald said dismissively. He limped over to where Edward was fidgeting, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Edward straightened up as Oswald approached. There was a flash of fear on his face that quickly smoothed over into something more remorseful. Suddenly Oswald felt guilty. It was his fault Edward was so uncomfortable. He had been desperate, yes, and Edward had agreed to this, but he should have checked on how comfortable he would be beforehand. Oswald had been so caught up in his own problems, he had not considered Edward.

“It’s okay if you can’t do this,” Oswald said when he reached Edward. He stood as close as possible to the taller man, trying to create a moment of intimacy in the open. He had to tilt his head back slightly to look him in the eye. “I’ll understand.”

“But you need a model,” Edward said, voice small.

“And I can always find one if I must. What I can’t find is another you.” Oswald could tell Edward was pleased with the statement by the way he ducked his head slightly, blushing beneath his make-up. Oswald was feeling a bit flushed himself, half in disbelief that he allowed such sentimental words out of his mouth. 

“You told me this was your one chance.”

“Opportunities come and go. I am a patient man.”

Edward’s lips crooked up in a half smile at that. “Liar,” he said.

“Well,” Oswald tilted his head in mock consideration, the knot of worry in his stomach loosening along with Edward’s nervousness. “I’m willing to try being one for you.”

It took two heartbeats for those words to register in Edward’s mind, but when they did, his expression became incredibly soft. His hands found their way to Oswald’s jaw, gently cupping his face. Oswald wished this moment could stop forever.

“And I am willing to do this for you,” Edward said, new found determination in his eyes. “I said I would do anything for you and I intend to keep my word.”

Oswald did not think of himself as much of a sentimentalist, but at that moment, he had never wanted to kiss someone more. He wrapped his fingers around Edward’s wrists, eyes sliding shut, body leaning forward. Edward responded immediately, ducking his head down and moving closer. But before their lips could meet, they both heard the click of a camera and were brought back to reality. 

Edward snapped his head up with a venomous glare, the shadow making its first appearance of the day, while Oswald breathed out sharply through his nose. 

“If you lovebirds are done…” Zsasz called out between the sounds of his camera going off. Reluctantly, Oswald let go and took a step back, Edward’s hands slipping off his face. Edward’s fingers twitched, an aborted attempt to hold on, before they slowly lowered and settled at his sides.

“Just look at me if you’re nervous.” Oswald said. “ I’ll be here the whole time.” Edward looked like he wanted to say something, but instead gave a decisive nod and tugged self-consciously at his lapel.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Zsasz said as soon as Oswald returned to his position behind the reflectors. 

The talk seemed to have helped. Though he still had nervous energy coiled near the surface of his skin, Edward had let go of his stiffness, moving from pose to pose at the instruction of Victor. Eventually, he did not even need that. 

Every once in a while, Zsasz would approach Edward and adjust a hand, a leg, the angle of his head, and Oswald had to tamp down on the visceral urge to hiss  _ mine _ . But whenever that thought entered his mind, it was like Edward could hear him and he would zero in on Oswald. The next few pictures after that would be of him smoldering at Oswald, eyes half lidded, lips parted enticingly, hand tantalizingly high on his thigh. Oswald always held his gaze as long as possible, but he was also always the one to give in first, looking away with his palms sweaty, face flushed, and collar a little too tight. 

After about an hour, Victor called for a wardrobe change and relocation. One of the assistants led Edward away while the other started moving the equipment into the house. 

The next outfit to make its debut was the one Edward had admired the first time he had visited the tailors. The navy blue fabric and crimson thread were vivid against the crisp white shirt Edward wore, buttoned all the way up. Rather than a tie, he had on a silver collar bar with ruby studs at both ends like crystalized drops of blood. The make up from before had been washed off in exchange for something more natural, a light foundation and brown eyeliner. His normal glasses had been traded in for tortoiseshell rims, slightly rounded at the corners.

Zsasz set them up in the conservatory. The autumn sun, slightly golden around the edges, glinted against the iron wrought frame and glass walls. There was a surprising amount of living plants there. Oswald did not go into the conservatory often. Green, fan-like leaves thrived in the slightly humid air while thin vines climbed up specially disguised trellises, wild by design. It was a sharp contrast to the barren gardens on the other side of the glass. 

“Okay, Eddy, darling, I want ‘an aristocrat’s lazy day at home’,” Zsasz instructed as he had Edward sit on the couch upholstered in swirling Victorian styled flowers. . He backed away slowly and somehow managed to step over the coffee table without looking. “You’re rich, you’re educated, you’re bored. You wish  _ something _ interesting would happen because life has become tedious. Got it?” He squatted down behind the coffee table and took a few test shots. Edward nodded in understanding and Oswald could swear he almost looked amused as he arranged himself on the couch. 

It would seem that Edward was really getting into the whole modeling thing. In contrast to just an hour ago, he casually lounged on the cushions, positioning himself sideways. He bent his right knee and placed his foot on the couch, pushing against the armrest. The other leg stretched along the cushions and angled to the floor, his heel resting on the gray stones. He arranged an arm along the back of the couch, slim fingers casually tracing blue flowers, and tilted his head back until it rested over the other armrest, exposing the long line of his neck. With his other hand, he took off his glasses and let them dangle at the edge of his fingertips.

Suddenly, Oswald saw a glimpse of a possible future, lazy weekends at home with Edward lying on the couch, head on Oswald’s lap while he sipped brandy. He would be reading aloud and Oswald would be at peace, lulled by the warmth of the sun and the soothing rumble of Edward’s voice. Moments in the kitchen of Oswald sitting on the counter, feeting kicking against the cabinets as he watched Edward cook them dinner. Every once in a while, he would turn around and feed Oswald a spoonful of whatever he was making, asking about the taste. It was sickeningly domestic and Oswald had never wanted anything more.

“You are an absolute vision!” Zsasz exclaimed, cutting in Oswald’s thoughts. 

With a shake of his head, Oswald brought himself back to the present. Edward was doing a great job. The longer he posed the more confident he seemed to be and it showed in his body language. Now he was sitting upright in the middle of the couch, legs spread wide open, shoulders back, arms positioned possessively on top of the cushions. He tilted his head to the side, exposing the long, pale line of his neck, and snuck a look at Oswald before looking through his lashes at the camera, eyes dark yet playful. He was still holding his glass rather than wearing them and he ran one of the temple tips along his bottom lip.

It struck Oswald that perhaps it was not all Edward he was seeing at the moment. The nervousness had gone away all too quickly. However, it was not all shadow either. The shadow was reckless in the way it handled Edward’s body, choosing its moves based on impulse and desire. Most of its choices may have been calculated risks, but they were risks, nevertheless. The Edward posing, while more confident in his skin than ever before, still held a quiet control and a certain shyness that became coy on camera.

He was beautiful this way, Oswald could not help but think, perfectly in balance with himself. Edward made his heart flutter and the shadow made his blood sing. Together...well, Oswald was already further gone than he cared to admit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! This modeling thing is going for longer than I expected, so I decided to split it into two chapters and post. I've been having some serious writer's block at the moment, but that could be because I just binged The Untamed and now pretty, gay sword boys that gaze at each other longingly to swelling Chinese orchestral music are all I can think about. But anyway, next chapter Oswald gets in front of the camera and I'm excited! Thanks for reading!!!! Lots of love~!


	6. Chapter 6

A few more outfits later, it was Oswald’s turn to be in front of the camera and he was beginning to have some serious regrets. It was not that he did not like being in front of the camera. His ego was big enough that every time he made the news, he was sure to cut out the article and add it to the shoebox collection in his closet. 

No. 

The issue was the fact that he was going to be taking pictures with Edward and after half a day of watching his smolder sexily in various places of Oswald’s home, his sense of restraint was on a razor’s edge. Edward knew it too as he became more and more smug with every outfit change. He spent the last one, dressed in a simple white shirt printed with an old Hungarian love poem and layered with spills of paint, watching Oswald with dark, heated eyes. He only glanced at the camera when Zsasz asked. Death by sexual frustration was never how Oswald thought he would go.

With half a mind to simply run away (his manor was teeming with secret passages), Oswald turned to inspect himself in the mirror. He was in one of his more traditionally cut suits, three buttons, single vented, broad peaked lapel, midnight black. To make up for the monotony, he wore a dark charcoal gray shirt, just a shade off black to be noticeable. His tie was a lovely red and deep violet, the colors locked in chaotic swirls around one another. The cufflinks on his wrist were silver, and if one looked really closely, accented with emeralds so dark they looked black.

His makeup was subtle in comparison to some of the looks Edward had been put through. First, his normal foundation and a bit of bronzer and highlighter to make his features slightly sharper than normal. Then a sweeping gradient of red around his eyes to match his tie. To finish off the look was thicker eyeliner than usual, making his normally pale eyes glisten like gems. His lips were only altered lightly, lined to form a sharper cupid’s bow and painted a neutral coral. His hair was pulled in tall curling spikes, giving Oswald the height he sometimes craved, but did not really need.

He was adjusting his cufflinks when one of Zsasz’s assistants peeked her head into the room. Her name might have been Lily, but Oswald was not completely sure. They creeped him out a little, to be honest, blank-faced and almost perfectly in sync with their movements. They somehow always knew what Zsasz was going to ask of them before it even left his mouth. They even kind of looked alike.

“Dining room,” was all she said in a clipped, emotionless voice. She disappeared before Oswald got a chance to turn around.

Breathing in sharply through his nose, Oswald steeled himself. He was going to survive this day. He had to, even if it was out of sheer force of will. He had too many plans for the future and he would be damned if he was taken out now, regardless of Edward’s pretty face. 

With legs that felt like jelly, he made his way through the halls, aiming for a casual, careless pace, not too fast, not to slow. He mostly achieved it, but it was all for naught when he reached the entrance of the dining room and stopped with a squeak. 

Edward was sprawled on top of the dining room table, all limbs and sparkle as he propped himself up on his elbows, eyes closed, head tilted back slightly to let the other assistant (was it Violet? Viola?) sweep a makeup brush over his cheekbones. He was in one of Oswald’s most flamboyant creations, designed after a particularly memorable Pride Parade. He had been surrounded by feathers and sequins and rainbows, a cacophony of sound and colors assaulting his senses. Everywhere he turned he could feel a feral type of energy, barely contained behind delighted smiles and waving arms. Oswald had never seen so many people who were so happy to simply  _ exist _ , their presence so intoxicating that Oswald found himself joining in on the frivolities, though he usually disliked such rambunctious crowds. Somehow he ended with loops of mardi gras beads around his neck, a rainbow flag in his hand, and a temporary tattoo of a daisy on his cheek. He never shared this experience with anyone, it did not suit his reputation, but he kept the memory locked tight near his heart.

The suit was made entire of sequins, catching the light every time Edward so much as twitched. The base color was green, how fitting, with silver dispersed in between. This meant that every time Edward moved, a rainbow of colors would ripple down his body like a verdant oil spill. Around his waist was a thick black lace ribbon tied in a neat bow. He looked not unlike a present, patiently waiting on the table, and Oswald’s fingers twitched with the itch to unwrap him.

To make matters worse, Edward was shirtless underneath the jacket, giving Oswald an eyeful of smooth, pale skin down to where the jacket was thankfully, or not depending on your point of view, buttoned. His eyes travelled up, lingering on the black lace choker around Edward’s neck, dotted with teardrop rhinestones. He mused, momentarily, about how it would feel to tug at it, just lightly, enough that Edward would strain a little for his next breath. 

But it was not time for that. Oswald’s eyes continued their way up, taking in lips painted in deep violet and cheekbones accented in silver glitter. There was definitely a curl of satisfaction in seeing Edward so blatantly wearing Oswald’s color. 

“There you are!” Zsasz’s grating voice broke Oswald’s concentrated inspection and he swung around to glare at the bald man. At the same time, Edward opened his eyes and drank in the sight of Oswald. His mouth fell open slightly and Violet (Viola? Verbena?) took advantage of the moment to refresh his lipstick.

“You better make me look good,” Oswald threatened to cover up the embarrassment of being caught so obviously checking out Edward. 

“Oswald, baby, have I ever made you look anything but?” Zsasz asked, acting offended by clutching his chest and swooning against Lily (Lila? Lilac?). She glanced at him, ever unimpressed, and returned to the light she was adjusting.

“There’s a first for everything,” Oswald said, rolling his eyes. Zsasz simply laughed and straightened up. He flicked his wrist towards the table.

“Go! Your meal awaits you!” 

Oswald shot him a withering glare, cheeks flaring up, but the photographer danced away with a sinister cackle leaving Oswald with no choice but to approach Edward. 

A genuine smile was on his lips as he watched Oswald come closer. “Hi,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s been half an hour since I saw you last,” Oswald pointed out, raising his brow in an unimpressed gesture. His lips betrayed him, tugging up at the corners. 

“And what a long half an hour it has been,” Edward said, coy and relaxed though he was out on display. Who would have thought modelling was good for his soul? The constant flattery was good for his ego, though Oswald could not help but wonder how long the effect would last. 

“ I didn’t take you for a sentimentalist,” Oswald commented as he moved to the place Viola (Verbena? Violet?) gestured towards. Edward’s eyes followed him as he positioned himself at the center of the long side of the table. There was a stool carefully hidden from the camera and Oswald stepped on it. He looked down, the host of a grand feast in a traditional dining room made of dark wood and warm lighting. Except the feast was Edward looking back up at him with eyes like liquid licorice. 

“I’m not, but you are.”

As Verbena huffed at the flirtation and walked away, Oswald just  _ knew _ Zsasz was somewhere behind the lights, heartily congratulating himself on his genius. To his horror, Oswald suddenly realized he was never going to live this down. His infatuation was going to be caught on camera as a permanent reminder and it was going to exist publicly forever..

Before he could work himself up to a full panic though, he felt Edward grab his hand. “If you feel nervous, just look at me,” he said, ever so earnestly. Oswald almost laughed at the reversed roles, but it did help him calm down. 

“I suppose you’re the expert here.”

“I am,” Edward said with a smug little smile, “so just follow my lead.” 

Watching pictures being taken of Edward and being in the pictures were two completely different things, Oswald was starting to realize after Zsasz gleefully began snapping photos.

Being in the pictures was infinitely worse. 

Before, there had been distance. No matter what looks Edward threw his way or how Oswald reacted to them, there was no danger. The camera might as well have served as the vastness of the sea between them.

Now, however, in front of the camera, there was nowhere left to hide. Every smoldering look Edward gave him, Oswald had to meet straight on. He was overwhelmed with the temptation to touch, the heat of Edward’s body mere inches from his fingertips. Oswald had to clench his jaw to control himself, the promise of a tension headache wounded in his temple.

Then, suddenly, Zsasz barked out instructions and he was allowed to touch, encouraged to touch. A hand on Edward’s exposed chest, skin warm beneath Oswald’s palm; the other at the base of his throat, right at the edge of the lace choker, too intimate with Edward’s pulse racing under his fingers. Edward blinked up at him, almost lazily, and tilted his head back ever so slightly, a challenge to Oswald’s self control. He squeezed, just a twitch of pressure as though to warn Edward to behave and was rewarded with a flash of teeth.

“Yes! Just like that!” Zsasz exclaimed, accompanied by a flash of light. They were both too focused on each other to fully acknowledge him.

Somehow, they both managed to follow directions, moving through all the positioned Zsasz suggested and a few more on top of that. He moved Oswald to the head of the table. Then he moved Edward to the other end. Then he had Oswald on the table and Edward sitting on the floor below him. Around and around they went, and every time they had to tangle up with each other, Oswald felt a shred more of his self control disappear. He could tell Edward was on the knife’s edge as well, his face gradually darkening as each moment passed. It looked like the shadow was growing impatient.

Just when it was getting too much, Zsasz yelled, “NEXT!” and two were ripped apart before they could even blink, whisked away by the two assistants to change into their next outfit.

They found themselves on the stairs half an hour later locked in the same dance as before. They posed next to the severe portraits of Oswald’s ancestors and against the oriental stair runner. Edward spent most of his time sprawled over several steps, limbs elongated by perspective and Oswald tended to lean against the bannister or the wall, an imposing figure even with his shorter stature. At one point Edward leaned against the bannister as well, though sitting on a lower step, one hand possessively wrapped around Oswald’s knee.

To the outer eye, it looked like Oswald was in charge. After all, they were Oswald’s designs. He owned the model wearing them as much as he owned the designs themselves. But in reality, he had no control over the situation. Oswald was falling apart. Every touch burned in his skin like a branded promise and something as simple as breathing evenly was beginning to become a problem. 

Edward, on the other hand, seemed to be feeding off the forced intimacy. He became more and more brazen with his touches, large hands wrapped around Oswald’s wrists, spread high on his thighs, spanning the breadth of his shoulders, and even once twined through Oswald’s hair. 

What sins did Oswald commit in his past lives to warrant such torture? 

Just like before, Zsasz seemed to sense when Oswald was about to tip into the abyss and called for a change. Again they were whisked away to different rooms. This time he was told to change into a simple white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, black leather sleeve garters wrapped around his biceps. The only accent was the color gold found on the top button and the golden collar stays that peeked out against Adam's apple.

When Oswald was told this was going to be the last set, he was not sure what he felt more strongly, relief or disappointment. 

What he should have felt was afraid.

One of the assistants (Lila? Lupin? Lyra?) led him through the mansion when he was ready and at first, Oswald thought she had made a mistake. 

“But that’s the bathroom,” he said dumbly. And indeed it was. He stepped inside to find the white porcelain clawfoot tub filled. The top of the steaming water was filled with red rose petals and delicate full blooms including chrysanthemums, violets, ranunculus, daisies, and the occasional magnolia, pinkish white among the burst of colors.

Edward was already there, his back to Oswald as he listened to Zsasz explain something. He was dressed in white shirt similar to Oswald’s other than the mandarin collar, unbuttoned to the base of his neck. He wore simple black slacks and stood barefoot, his toes wiggling against the cold tile floor. 

“Perfect!” Zsasz said, catching sight of Oswald. “Get in!” 

Before Oswald could protest, Edward shot him a wink over his shoulder and carefully climbed into the bathtub. While he slowly lowered himself into the water, Zsasz dragged Oswald behind the tub, and indicated to the spot where he was supposed to kneel. They had been kind enough to provide him with a cushion. 

Oswald settled himself on the cushion, wincing quietly at the pang of pain that went up his leg. His body was not going to thank him for this, but it was the last set and he would make it through even if it killed him.

“Are you okay?” 

Oswald looked up to find Edward peering at him through the steam with concern.

“I’m fine,” he reassured Edward with a smile. Edward did not look like he believed him, but before he could say anything else, Zsasz tapped him on top of his head.

“I need you to go all the way under, bud,” he said, clearing the fog off his camera lens with the cloth he kept in his breast pocket.

Edward grimaced at Oswald, but did what he was told, taking a deep breath before plunging all the way into the water. His knees stuck out almost comically from between the flowers, the tub too small to hold Edward’s full length comfortably. 

A moment later, he surfaced with a controlled spray of water. He slicked his hair back and ran a hand over his face.

_ Ah. _

So this was how Oswald was going to die.

Water droplets clung to Edward’s lashes like crystals, quivering every time he blinked. Stray streams of water ran down his face, tracing his cheekbones and the edge of his jaw. His white shirt was now see-through, plastered to his body like a second skin. He was slouched low in the tub, the rest of his body obscured by the flowers, but Oswald knew that if he sat up higher, he would be able to see every line and curve of Edward’s chest. 

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Zsasz asked, squatting down to take a photo. 

“It’s the water,” one of the assistants said dryly. Oswald did not bother to figure out which one, too focused on the vision in front of him. 

The rest of the session went by in a steamy haze with Edward arranged in a series of positions that teased of showing too much skin. Sometimes Oswald was perched at the side of the tub. Other times, the photos were taken of Edward alone, a beautiful, pale canvas against the vivid colors of the flowers. His skin promised to be as soft as the petals.

Before he knew it, Zsasz shouted, “Pack it up!” and Oswald felt like he was blinking himself out of a murky haze. 

“Great stuff today!” he said, snapping his lens cover over his camera and handing it over to Lima (Laura? Letta?) . “Normally I’d show you the raws, but uh…” Zsasz trailed off, glancing between Oswald and Edward who was still in the tub, waggling his nonexistent brows. “I don’t think you’re in the right set of mind to look at them. I’ll have someone send them to the shop later this week.”

“So we’re...done?” Oswald asked, blinking uncomprehendingly. 

“Yep! And we’ll get right out of your way because I know you guys want to...!” Again with that brow wag. 

Oswald looked at Edward and was surprised to find him blushing.

When the insinuation finally clicked in his mind, Oswald turned to yell at Zsasz, only to find that he had disappeared, somehow managing to take down all his equipment in what seemed like five seconds. 

In the distance, he heard the cheerful voice of Victor say his goodbyes and a flat reply by Olga. The door slammed shut and the mansion seemed to settle in silence.

A bit stunned, Oswald turned back to Edward.

“I guess...I should get you a towel?” he said awkwardly, more question than statement.

“That would be ever so kind,” Edward said, still flushed. He refused to meet Oswald’s eyes, instead, finding a white chrysanthemum particularly fascinating. Looks like whatever confidence he had gained from the photoshoot left along with Zsasz. 

Oswald rummaged through one of the bathroom cabinets and pulled out a large fluffy towel. Bless Olga for always keeping the house stocked even though Oswald barely spent any time there.

He went back to the tub and opened the towel for Edward, carefully averting his eyes as Edward unfolded himself from the sitting position and sent water cascading down his body and onto the bathroom floor. From the corner of his eye, he could see the way the wet clothing was sticking to Edward’s figure, leaving nothing to the imagination. In his hands, he held the white chrysanthemum. 

“Did you know that chrysanthemums are believed to represent happiness and longevity?” Edward asked, his voice echoing slightly in the now mostly empty bathroom. He shivered, the air a lot cooler than the water he had been in, and accepted the towel, wrapping it over his shoulders. He stepped out of the tub. “White chrysanthemums in particular represent loyalty and dev-”

In his eagerness to explain the language of flowers, Edward did not pay attention to his actions. Before he managed to finish his sentence, he stepped into a puddle of water and slipped forward in a mess of limbs.

In the split second before they hit the floor, Oswald tried to catch him. However, he quickly realized that he had miscalculated their height difference and his own strength. He found himself falling as well. Luckily, Edward’s instinct was faster than Oswald’s and he curled around the smaller man, flipping them around so that he landed on his back against 

For a moment, no one dared to breathe, Edward because he had the breath knocked out of him and Oswald because he feared he had accidentally committed murder. Oswald sighed in relief when he finally heard Edward groan and felt him stir beneath him. 

Realizing what position they were in, Oswald placed his hands on the floor and rushed to push off Edward. However, Edward had other plans, his arms winding around Oswald’s waist and holding him in place.

“Edward?” Oswald asked hesitantly. He could feel the heat from the other man, seeping through the thin shirt that was steadily becoming wetter the longer he was pressed against Edward. His mind raced with a hundred possible scenarios, none of them good for his sanity.

Edward hummed a nonverbal reply, eyes running along the planes of Oswald’s face, as gentle as caress. They settled on Oswald’s lips and Oswald shivered in anticipation. 

Well.

They had been playing all day after all and it would be a crime to waste all the tension.

Might as well.

Before he could think himself out of the situation, Oswald leaned down to close the distance just as Edward surged up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end, you guys! One more chapter to go and it's getting steamy! Just fyi, there will not be explicit smut in this story. I contemplated it for a while, but I'm just too rusty and I don't think I'd be able to do it justice. I may or may not add it as an epilogue depending on my confidence. Either way, it will be alluded to in the next chapter, so you'll still get some sexy scenes. 
> 
> I couldn't decide what to name Zsasz's assistants, so I thought I'd make it a bit of a joke. Also, white carnations mean devoted love. The more you know! 
> 
> On a fashion note, I started watching Guardian and I discovered that collar stays could be worn on the outside of the collar rather than the inside? It literally blew my mind because who would think of using that as an accessory? Not to mention they had to alter the shirt to make it possible since the space for collar stays are usually under the collar. Anyway, they look like [this.](https://images.app.goo.gl/9UukRjMFnTXsjcFr9) (I couldn't find a close up, but his face is so pretty, it's ok.) They're so subtle and I am absolutely obsessed with the idea of them at the moment. (To be fair, I am obsessed with this man's entire wardrobe on the show. He wears sleeve garters in almost every scene like it's normal? He just owns so many and wears them? Idk, still wrapping my head around it.)


	7. Chapter 7

Oswald woke up warm and more relaxed than he had ever felt before. Even his leg was taking a break, only vaguely aching in a way that Oswald had long tuned into the background. He let out a content hum, languishing in the cocoon of his sheets for a moment, before blearily blinking his eyes open against the early morning sun filtering through his curtains. 

Squinting, he turned his head to the side and could not help but blush, even as his heart seemed to swell up at the sight of Edward still asleep, hair awry, face half burrowed into the black silk pillowcase. His arm was thrown possessively over Oswald’s waist, a heavy, comforting weight, their legs tangled together as though he was doing everything he could to make sure Oswald stayed. Or perhaps Oswald was the one who did not want to let go. 

Oswald turned on his side to get a better view, careful not to wake Edward up with his movements. Unable to resist, he raised a hand and started to trace down Edward’s face, the tips of his fingers as light as a kiss from butterfly wings. Over the ridges of his brow, down the bridge of his nose, along the dip of his cupid’s bow. Last night seemed like a hazy wet dream, but the delicious ache in his backside, their lack of clothing, and the fact that Edward was dead asleep next to him told Oswald that it had all been very,  _ very _ real.

After they finally kissed on the bathroom floor, Edward had picked them both up, wrapped Oswald’s legs around his waist, and refused to separate his mouth from Oswald’s neck as they somehow made it to the master bedroom. Oswald had panted out directions in the moments he was coherent to realize that they should not be almost having sex in the hallway, but it took longer than Oswald cared to admit because Edward’s hands were possessive and burning against his skin and his mouth made most things fly out of Oswald’s head other than the current of want, want, want surging through his body. 

There was a likelihood that his estate was too big. Maybe it was time to move to a smaller place. A place where hallways were short and there was no help to possibly walk in on them and Edward could take Oswald on any available surface he liked. Not that Oswald was not willing to try in the mansion, but the idea of Olga finding them did put a damper on things.

Any thought of relocation had disappeared when they finally burst into the bedroom. The rest of the night was a veritable mess of hands and teeth, clothes strewn all over the room while Edward made it a mission to mark every inch of exposed skin he saw. Oswald was not shocked by Edward’s innate need to possess, to own, to remind Oswald, as he bent over the smaller body and made it sing in ways Oswald never thought about before, who he belonged to. He had already gotten a glimpse in the fitting room a week previous. All this confirmed was that Edward was just as, in not more, possessive as the shadow that sat beneath his skin.

What really surprised Oswald was his own willingness to submit, moans passing unbridled through his lips as he let Edward have his way, sometimes soft, sometimes rough, unabashedly begging when it became too much, too much, too much. Yet still, Edward had not relented, pushing until Oswald was an incoherent mess, begging in sounds rather than words because nothing made sense any more other than Edward. His eyes, dark and liquid as they pinned him down and poured into Oswald’s soul. His deep, rumbling voice, whispering what must have been words that felt like electricity into his skin. His hands, big and bruising, leaving marks where he gripped too tight as though he never wanted to let go. His lips and teeth, bringing blood to the surface until Oswald could taste the copper on his own tongue. It was his own personal hell because he had been ruined. After this there would be no one else. There could be no one else.

But perhaps that was how it was always supposed to be.

Oswald was brought out of his memory by the feeling of something soft and wet. He blinked back to the present just in time to watch Edward, eyes still closed, lick the pads of his fingers and coax them into his mouth using his tongue. Sucking on them lightly, his lips curled into a pleased, devious smile as though he already knew how red Oswald’s face was. Desire flamed dangerously in his stomach.

“Good morning,” Oswald said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Edward popped the fingers out of his mouth and opened his eyes, hazy and unfocused without his glasses. “Good morning,” he replied huskily, the grip around Oswald’s waist tightening. Edward leaned forward and gave Oswald a peck on the lips, then leaned back with a wrinkle of his nose. Morning breath. Oswald could not help but to huff out a laugh.

“Come on, let’s brush our teeth.”

Morning ablutions were strangely domestic with Edward and Oswald side by side at the bathroom sink. Contentment curled happily around his heart like a lazy cat flicking its tail as he watched Edward brush his teeth in absolute concentration. He was formulaic, moving on to the next section of teeth only after the previous section was properly cleaned down to the second. It was familiar, not because it had happened before, but because it was always supposed to happen.

When they both finished rinsing out their mouths and washing his faces, Edward caught his eye in the mirror . He licked his teeth behind his lips as though to check that they were fully cleaned. Then, apparently satisfied, he suddenly turned and gripped Oswald’s waist. Oswald gave a surprised squeak as Edward lifted him onto the bathroom counter and settled between his legs.

“Let’s try that good morning again.” 

~

An hour later, they finally made it to the dining room where the spread Olga had put out was turning cold. Edward was dressed in the clothes he arrived in yesterday, the t-shirt and jeans making Oswald want to pull Edward back into the bedroom they just left. But then his stomach growled in protest of that idea and he decided it was perhaps best to revisit that idea later.

Oswald himself was in an oatmeal colored thick knit sweater layered over a simple white dress shirt and casual gray slacks. It was his usual weekend wear when he was alone at home, not usually meant for company. Edward seemed to be the exception. He seemed to be the exception to many things, Oswald was starting to realize.

The silence was surprisingly comfortable as they filled their plates with food and split the newspaper. Oswald read the economics and business section while Edward took the front page stories and the crossword. Occasionally one would make a comment and the other would hum in agreement.

When Oswald was stuffing the last piece of toast into his mouth, Edward folded up the newspaper and cleared his throat. He glanced at Oswald, who folded up his own newspaper out of respect, then dropped his eyes to his empty plate, his right hand fiddling with the handle of his fork.

“So…” Edward began, then stopped. His throat worked furiously, full of words, refusing to come out.

“So?” Oswald prompted. He watched as Edward dropped the fork and started picking at the tablecloth. The longer he went on without speaking, the more nervous it was making Oswald. What was happening? They had literally been naked together only an hour ago and breakfast had been pretty uneventful. Did Edward read something in the paper? Was he having second thoughts? Was he about to confess that he was secretly a serial killer that enjoyed strangling bookish type women and hiding their bodies in the forest?

Before Oswald could fall into a full blown panic, Edward took a deep breath and met Oswald’s eyes, chin slightly lifted in determination.

“I really like you,” he announced loudly, concentration written on his face as he made sure everything he was saying was coming out in the correct order. Oswald felt his heart skip a beat at the declaration and had to will himself not to look away. “I suspect you feel the same way, though you are free to correct me if I am wrong.”

He paused then and examined Oswald’s reaction. When all he did was blink in shock, Edward nodded and continued. “As we have consummated this relationship, I thought it might be best if we established our statuses.”

“Like...boyfriends?” Oswald asked hesitantly, barely finding his voice.

“Boyfriends, partners, companions, whichever title you feel most comfortable with.” Edward paused again to make sure he was following and Oswald nodded dumbly. “I also propose that we make a public announcement.” Something dark flashed across Edward’s face and it instinctively sent a thrill up Oswald’s spine. “I dislike when people touch my things.” The bruises on his hips throbbed in anticipation.

Then, the words caught up with Oswald and he gaped at the taller man who was looking at him with all the seriousness in the world. “Like in the newspaper?” he asked a little shrilly. “Like an announcement? Like for an en- engag- en-” He could not force himself to finish the word, feeling faint and hot around the collar. 

“Ah!” Edward said in surprise, lips twitching up in delight when he realized what Oswald meant. “Oh no! I mean, eventually yes, but not quite just yet. I would like the chance to court you for a little longer.”

“What do you mean?” Oswald asked, blushing at the sentiment. Courting, what an old fashion idea and yet...somehow it settles something old in his soul.

“I was wondering if you would do me the honor of being my companion to the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Oswald repeated. Then he remembered the reason they met in the first place, Edward stumbling into his shop looking for a suit and somehow managing to charm Oswald into making one for him. Now look at them only a few weeks later. Wedding, indeed.

“Of course I’ll go with you.”

Tension that Oswald did not even realize Edward had been holding instantly drained out. He grabbed Oswald’s hand, warm and tight, and beamed at him.

“Excellent!” he exclaimed. Oswald chuckled and unable to resist, leaned in for a kiss which Edward responded to enthusiastically. After all, they were both allowed to do that now. 

~

A week later, the prints from the photoshoot were delivered to The Penguin Suite by one of Zsasz’s assistants. Oswald still could not remember her name, but to be fair, he had more important things on his mind. 

He brought the envelope to his workroom and cleared the table, folding up the tweed fabric he had been inspecting for flaws. Ever since the photoshoot and the...resulting consequences, Oswald’s mind had been swimming with inspiration. One and a half sketchbooks later, he finally decided to make a surprise suit for Edward. After all, one of the benefits of having a boyfriend was being allowed to dress him.

But that was for pondering later.

Now, he carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a thick stack of prints, a letter clipped to the top. He could recognize Zsasz’s swirling handwriting anywhere, paired with his extravagant letterhead which inappropriately took up almost a quarter of the page. 

_ Pengy, darling, it was great doing business! Let’s do it again soon with your scrumptious darling of a boy toy. The camera just eats. Him. Up! You’ll see what I mean once you look at the photos. Hope you two had fun after I left! ;) _

_ xxVictor _

Oswald felt an eye twitch. He crumpled up the letter and threw it in the trash. That man was too perceptive for his own good, but then again, he supposed that was part of being a photographer. 

He turned to the first photo. In all honesty, Oswald was not sure what to expect. The whole day had been a sexually frustrated blur. He could barely remember what happened in front of the camera other than Zsasz shouting incomprehensible words and Edward with his dark eyes and sharp smile.

It turned out Oswald had no need to worry. Victor Zsasz was an award winning photographer, after all, and he produced nothing if not excellence. The first few prints were the ones that would be printed in the magazine, crisp, high resolution images that burst with vibrant colors. The photos of Edward were on top, posed throughout the Van Dahl Estate in various outfits looking every bit like the model Oswald knew he could be, cheekbones sharp enough to cut, lips pouty, eyes sultry. Zsasz had left tabs on a couple of them as front cover suggestions and Oswald looked over all of them carefully. He was split between one of the photos from the bathroom, a full shot from above, Edward tilting his head back so he could fully face the camera, arms slung over the sides of the porcelain tub, a rose in his hand, the rest of his body covered by flowers, and one from the conservatory.

After a few minutes of debating, he eventually settled on the one from the conservatory. Edward was perched on the edge of a table with sunlight streaming in from the glass walls around him. With his legs crossed at the ankle and a leather bound tome opened in his hands, he peered over his glasses into the camera, half cast in the shadows. Though he seemed calm, his eyes sparkled mischievously and a corner of his lips curled up, almost imperceptible. If there was ever a picture to describe the man, this was it. 

With a small smile, Oswald made a mental note to message Zsasz later about his choice and continued to flip through the pile. The next few photos had Oswald in. There were a couple of him alone on the staircase and even Oswald was surprised at how elegant and commanding he looked against the dark wood banister and jewel toned carpeting. He seemed taller, more confident, everything he knew he was, but others did not always see.

Then came the photos of both of them.

Oswald found himself suitably impressed as he considered the pictures. Somehow, Zsasz had turned their obvious sexual tension into a tasteful longing, one of them always looking away from the other’s stare. In one, Oswald looked directly into the camera, blue eyes piercing while Edward looked up at him adoringly, hands curled in an exhibition of self control. In another, Edward was looking at something off camera, head turned, jawline angled, and Oswald had his head slightly ducked, lashes lowered like he was about to kiss the long expanse of Edward’s neck. In all of them, Oswald’s suits still somehow played the main character, a breath of modernity and creativity against the old fashion background of the manor.

This was going to be a magnificent spread and Oswald could not help but congratulate himself on his genius. Getting Edward to model for him had not only been a great choice for his personal life, but his professional one as well. Who knows? Maybe this could be the start of a promising modeling career for Edward, though Oswald was not sure how he felt about Edward wearing other people’s clothes. A different conversation for a different time.

Speaking of which...Oswald glanced at the clock and realized he only had an hour left before Edward picked him up for dinner. He quickly returned his attention to the prints, determined to go through all of them before showing Edward. 

The top quarter of the stack was separated from the bottom three fourths with a bright pink sticky note. It simply stated  _ For Personal Use Only _ with a winky face at the end. Oswald pulled it off with an annoyed huff which quickly turned in a surprised squeak when he realized why Zsasz had labeled it so.

Turns out Zsasz was just as good at taking horny pictures as he was at taking tasteful ones. In half of them they looked about ready to tear each others’ clothes off, Edward’s lips caught in an almost feral snarl, his hands grippingly obviously too tight around Oswald’s limbs, leaving wrinkles in the clothing. Meanwhile, Oswald looked eerily calm, the dangerous type of calm that came before a typhoon, his hands often placed inappropriately, around Edward’s neck, twisted in his hair, too low on his hips. 

No wonder these were not going to be submitted. Even as Oswald flipped through them, he felt his cheeks heat up and his pulse quicken. They may have both been appropriately clothed, but there was a raw energy and intimacy that made the photos seem voyeuristic. He was going to have to save these to review with Edward at a later date. Though…now that he thought about it, maybe he could suggest reenacting some of these photos back at the manor. The conclusion would be satisfactory either way.

Now pondering if he should suggest skipping dinner in exchange for thoroughly using the fitting rooms for purposes other than trying on clothes, Oswald came upon the last picture. Instantly, he softened, any thoughts of inappropriate sex fading into warm, fuzzy fondness.

It was a photo from the first outfit, when Edward had still been unsure in front of the camera and Oswald took a chance in comforting him. Zsasz had managed to capture their moment of vulnerability, set in the splendid golden tones of autumn. Though none of their expressions were shown, the tenderness was visible in the way Oswald’s hands cupped Edward’s face and the way Edward seemed to curl around the smaller man, protecting him from the world. The gold tulle that sprouted from Edward’s shoulders glimmered in the cold sun, enforcing the illusion of wings. An angel and a human being saved, though it was difficult to tell who was saving who.

Almost reverently, Oswald pulled the photo out of the stack. This was definitely getting framed and a place on the bedside table. The rest, he will sort those out later.

~

**A few months later**

Oswald could not help but admire Edward as he climbed out of the car, long and slender and elegant. He squinted against the sun and turned to Oswald with a smile, a vision in green. The suit had been tailored within an inch of its life, the lines sharp and crisp along the breadth of his shoulders and the cut of his waist. His pants were almost sinfully tight, just dancing along the lines of inappropriate as they wrapped around his legs. The green fabric shimmered under the spring sunlight whenever he moved, inadvertently catching the eyes of everyone in the area. Many of them did a double take as though they could not believe the confident man standing next to Oswald was Edward. Oswald could not help but feel inexplicably smug.

Rather than the green waistcoat they had originally decided on, Edward had switched it for a velvet plum number to match Oswald. His tie was made of the same color and material, clipped to his white shirt with an emerald tie pin. On his feet were shiny brown dress shoes and of course, a pair of whimsical socks, black with little penguins dressed in green. 

Oswald himself was dressed in something a little more discrete, though no less fashionable. His waistcoat, like Edward’s, was made in plum velvet, but was double breasted rather than single and his tie swirled in black and green brocade that resembled large question marks. He wore a black morning coat buttoned tightly around his waist and it was only when he walked that anyone could see the gold lining of his tails, winking and flirting in the sun. While he wore simple black dress shoes and black socks, he also had on silver cufflinks. They were in the shape of question marks, studded with an alternating pattern of emeralds and amethysts and Edward wore the matching pair. He had given them to Oswald as a gift during the anniversary of the first month, heartbreakingly serious as he opened the box and waited for Oswald’s reaction. 

Of course, he loved them.

Oswald smiled back at Edward and they made their way around the car to hold hands, fingers slotting between each other. 

“This is quite impressive,” Oswald said as they walked up the cobblestone path that led up the estate. Edward had been surprisingly reluctant about telling Oswald anything in regards to the wedding other than the fact that the couple had money. Around them, other guests were arriving and Oswald was surprised to recognize some of the attendees. In fact, he saw a few of his clients in the crowd, their wives hovering at their elbows and perfectly behaved kids at their feet.

Edward made a face and swung the arm between them lightly. “It’s not really my scene,” he said, “but I promised I’d come.” Oswald patted his elbow comfortingly, though suspicion was starting to worm its way into his brain. Everywhere he looked he spotted more and more of Gotham’s elite. 

They made their way up the path to the back of the mansion. People were slowly starting to fill up the rows of gold painted chairs accented with dark blue ribbon. The runner down the middle was made of the same color with a golden leaf design along the edges. Tall crystal vases lined both sides, filled with deep red peonies, blue dyed roses, and gold baby’s breath. At the very end was a grand archway set against the green of the forest behind it. The archway itself was decorated with silvery gauze that swayed in the spring breeze with bunches of flowers along the top accented by trailing vines of ivy.

“Edward,” Oswald said slowly, eyes getting wider as he recognized more and more people. Was that Carmine Falcone talking to Fish Mooney? And he was pretty sure the Waynes were a few rows over with their prepubescent son who was tugging at his bow tie with a scowl on his face. “Exactly whose wedding is this?” 

“Did I not mention?” Edward said breezily, leading Oswald along the edges of the crowd. He seemed to be searching for something even as he purposely ignored Oswald.

“No you did  _ not _ !” Oswald screeched to a stop, yanking Edward to him. He was starting to make realizations as puzzle pieces started to fall into place. 

“Then it must have slipped my mind.” Edward tugged at their joined hands in hopes of getting Oswald to move again, but Oswald stubbornly refused, glaring suspiciously at the man refusing to meet his eyes. He seemed to be finding the floral arrangement particularly interesting and had if fact started commenting on them when Oswald cut in with a hiss.

“Whose. Wedding. Is. This?”

“Um, well, you see.” Edward glanced everywhere but at Oswald in hopes of an escape, but eventually deflated when he saw Oswald had no problem making a scene and was ready to do so. “It’s Jim Gordon and Lee Thompson’s wedding,” he said meekly.

“ _ What?! _ ” Oswald screeched. Some of the people turned to stare at them and Oswald hastily calmed down, shooting them a harmless smile. “What do you mean it’s Jim Gordan and Lee Thompson’s wedding?” he whispered furiously. 

The Gordan name was as synonymous with Gotham as Wayne. Coming from one of the founding families of the city, Jim Gordon belonged to the top one percent of the top percent. He was rarely photographed and rumored to have an unrelenting sense of morality, on the board of a number of charitable organizations and the biggest supporter of criminal justice reforms and GCPD. 

Lee Thompson, on the other hand, was not a born Gothamite, but that made her credentials no less impressive. Her movie star good looks did not help either. A doctor by choice, she was the heiress of one of the richest families in Star City. Rather than being a socialite, she chose to spend her time volunteering with the less fortunate.

This was literally the wedding of the century, only surpassed actual royalty. There had been rumors that they were going to tie the knot, but the secret was so well guarded even Barbara Gordan had not been able to find any information about it. Oswald had toyed with the idea of mentioning it to his clients a few times when the rumors first started floating around, but quickly dismissed it, deciding his energy and time was better off focused on other things.

And yet Edward had been invited. And he invited Oswald. In fact, he said they had been friends…

“Who exactly…” Oswald trailed off, too stunned to fully form words as a bigger picture emerged.

Edward answered anyway, already guessing what Oswald was trying to ask. “Lee,” he answered, shuffling his feet like a little kid. He still refused to look Oswald in the eyes. “We were childhood friends. The other kids thought I was weird, but she was always nice to me and we eventually became friends.” Edward shrugged helplessly and Oswald felt a pang in his heart. He was angry at the idea of anyone bullying Edward, but he was still stuck on the fact that Edward was  _ childhood friends _ with  _ Lee Thompson _ of the  _ Star City Thompsons _ . He might have a heart attack. “She told me I had to come to her wedding or else she would kill me so...here we are.” Edward gestured at the seats, already half filled, unintentionally bringing Oswald’s hand along.

“Then...who are you?” Oswald asked, looking at Edward suspiciously. If Edward was friends with Lee Thompson, that meant he had to be someone. That was just the laws of society. Someone as high up as a Thompson would not be friends with a peasant. Well, actually, Lee did seem like the soft hearted type that made friends despite status, if rumors were to be believed, but this was during childhood and her parents would have definitely still had control over the influences in her life. That meant no peasants. That also meant no Nygmas because from Oswald’s extensive knowledge of high society, there had never been a family, new or old with that name.

Edward was reluctant to answer, lips pressed into a thin line. He seemed more embarrassed than anything else. Luckily the answer presented itself when Edward suddenly looked up, fear flashing across his face. 

“Mother. Father.”

Oswald spun around to find a severe looking couple watching them, a mild sense of displeasure on their faces. The man was imposing, about as tall as Edward with dark eyes and salt and pepper hair while the woman was icy, light eyes as cold as the arctic tundra and blond hair coiffed to perfection. They had an air of aloofness about them and their features were strangely familiar. 

The Nashtons! The Nashtons? They were another elite family from Star City, sitting on various government boards. But that would mean… 

The last piece of the puzzle slotted into place and Oswald looked up at Edward. Everything was confirmed by the similar sense of practiced displeasure on his face which was apparently hereditary. Upon closer inspection, it was easy to find Edward’s features on his parents face, the slope of Mr. Nashton’s nose, the set of Mrs. Nashton’s eyes. Deep in his mind, a memory echoed, Edward informing him that money was not an issue, a strange, secretive smile on his lips. Oswald dismissing him with a roll of his eyes.

“Edward,” Mr. Nashton said, his voice dripping with contempt. His eyes slid over their joined hands and over to Oswald. “And friend.”

Feeling a bit dizzy, Oswald pasted on a big fake smile and greeted the couple. “Oswald Cobblepot, a pleasure.” He reached out a hand and the couple reluctantly shook it, their nose turned up slightly. Immediately, he felt a surge of anger. How could such despicable people raise someone as sweet as Edward? Though...perhaps that did explain a thing or two about his darker tendencies. 

Behind him, Edward was as still as a board, barely daring to breathe. Oswald could feel him shaking slightly and felt an urge to protect him. He stepped discretely to the left, covering more of Edward with his body, but before he could say anything more, the Nashton’s deemed the conversation finished, sweeping away after giving Edward a pointed look. 

Both of them stood frozen for several moments, Oswald trying to wrap his head around all this new information and Edward learning how to breath again. Eventually, Edward tugged at their hands and led Oswald to seats on the bride’s side, taking care to sit as far away from his parents as possible. 

“Are you angry?” Edward blurted out after a few more minutes of silence. Oswald blinked, only to realize that Edward was squeezing his hand so tightly his nails were leaving crevices against his skin and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingers.

“What? No!” Oswald said, wanting to sooth away the fear etched in the wrinkle of Edward’s brows and the lines of his mouth. He reached out his other hand and cupped Edward’s cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening again. He loosened his hold on Oswald’s hand. “I’m just surprised. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just wanted to be treated normally,” Edward said, his voice small. “All my life I’ve been a Nashton and I’ve never been able to live up to my name. When I was old enough, I ran away from home and changed my name. My parents knew where I was, of course. There was no way they were going to lose their only heir, but since I wasn’t causing any trouble for our name, they decided to let it go on the understanding that I would eventually have to go back.

And then I met you and it just...never came up. And the longer we were together, the harder it was to find an opportunity to bring it up. I knew I was going to have to tell you at some point, but I was just so afraid it would change how you looked at me so I just…” 

“You idiot,” Oswald breathed, rolling his eyes. He leaned in and kissed Edward softly, untangling their hands so he could hold Edward’s face with both hands. Edward responded sweetly, his own hands settling on Oswald’s waist. 

“So you’re not mad?” Edward asked when they finally pulled away. Oswald rested their foreheads together and shook his head.

“It’s going to take me a bit to wrap my head around it, but no, I’m not mad.” He understood, he really did. He hated to think about it, but if he had met Edward as Edward Nashton rather than Edward Nygma, their relationship might have turned out very different. There was no denying the initial attraction, but the name would have undeniably changed Oswald’s behavior. He would have treated Edward as one of his clients, instead of letting his guard down around him. They might have never gotten over that barrier and never gotten together.

As it were, Oswald could not help but be glad that he had met Edward Nygma rather than Edward Nashton that fateful day. Otherwise, he would have still been a lonely tailor, slaving his days away in his workshop surrounded by his mannequins for companionship rather than spending his spare time curled up on Edward’s lap, reading, talking, drinking wine, making out, among many, many other things.

“But to make it up to me, you’re going to have to introduce me to everyone here.” Oswald said with a grin. His eyes sparkling with opportunity. “There are suits to be made, you know.” 

Edward shook his head, but laughed, low and comforting. The sound collected in Oswald’s heart and he knew he would never be able to be mad at the man. “Like I could ever hide you away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! Thank you to all my readers who came on this journey with me! I can't believe I actually finished a fic. To be honest, this all kind of felt like a fevered dream, but that could just be the pandemic talking. I relearned a lot about writing with this fic and I am forever grateful to all the people who left comments and kudos. I'll see you again next time, where ever that may be! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I actually got the inspiration for this fic while writing a Tailor Shop AU where Edward was the tailor instead. That one was more of a introspection of the characters of Gotham through their clothing choices. But while I was writing it, it struck me that Oswald would make a perfect tailor and here we are. I mean his outfits in the show were _ah-mazing._ I respect a man who knows how to make statements with his clothes. I am obsessed with menswear and it kills me that men aren't more creative with suits (or just generally care more about how they look). It's like anything other than the normal blue/black/gray and caring about how you look is "gay" and an affront to masculinity. It isn't. It's just boring. Sorry, I feel very strongly about mens fashion and after having lived in Asia for a few years, I **know** what its like to be in a society where men are as invested in fashion as the women are and are not criticized for it. Anyway, the Tailor!Edward AU might still happen. Also, ratings might change if things get steamy. We'll just have to see where this goes.


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